Evidence for the defense
I have something which I need to write down because I need a reminder, in the time to come, of what I had thought now.
I am surrounded by lush forests with trails. Deer are everywhere, as are rabbits and chipmunks. Sparkling streams cross through them. I have run some of these trails, but I don't linger.
Two Christmases ago, mother gave me a little knapsack with a brushed stainless steel thermos and two cups and two other little small thermal containers. The pack itself even has an insulated section for keeping other food hot or cold. Two little pockets hold matching cloth napkins and spoons. I have never used it. I look at it often and imagine how nice it would be to use it.
I have tennis courts. I've always wanted to play tennis. I never have.
I have china and crystal and silver; a large dining table; comfortable chairs and a sofa.
Most of my music is chamber music. I like chamber music, of course, but it always seemed like a practical choice because chamber music is the best to accompany conversation or dinner.
Every bit of what I have is rendered useless, nearly ridiculous, because I have no friends with whom to share it. I live on the very perimeter of a few social circles in DC, but I have no intimates.
It is easy to blame my isolation on my location. I live far enough out of the city for it to be inaccessible to those without cars or enough leisure to add the bus to their rail. No one offers to visit me.
Then again, no one offered to visit me in Bethesda. There was always cajoling and coaxing involved to lure anyone there. Past entries will give witness to the isolation I felt there, too.
I am unhappy, and have been unhappy because I am alone. This is the same reason why I have been unhappy for my whole life. The circumstances have been altered a bit here and there. I still have that childhood longing for a playmate my own age.
I will look back on this time in my life with regret, and say, "Why didn't I do more?" But let me remember--I had no one to do it with.
Facebook--my pseudo-social life--fuels the flame of my discontent. I see their pictures of vacations; of group outings or parties to which I was not invited. Time, precious time, is slipping through my hands like the water of a fast moving current: but I am helpless to grasp it.
There are friends far away who will read this entry once it is written, and I am bound to tell you that this is not a request for help, for there is nothing you can do. I simply must leave evidence of my present circumstances, so that when I put myself on trial in my mind, and, as prosecutor, I shall lay to my charge the loss of my youth, there will be this record to show that there was nothing I could do.
I am surrounded by lush forests with trails. Deer are everywhere, as are rabbits and chipmunks. Sparkling streams cross through them. I have run some of these trails, but I don't linger.
Two Christmases ago, mother gave me a little knapsack with a brushed stainless steel thermos and two cups and two other little small thermal containers. The pack itself even has an insulated section for keeping other food hot or cold. Two little pockets hold matching cloth napkins and spoons. I have never used it. I look at it often and imagine how nice it would be to use it.
I have tennis courts. I've always wanted to play tennis. I never have.
I have china and crystal and silver; a large dining table; comfortable chairs and a sofa.
Most of my music is chamber music. I like chamber music, of course, but it always seemed like a practical choice because chamber music is the best to accompany conversation or dinner.
Every bit of what I have is rendered useless, nearly ridiculous, because I have no friends with whom to share it. I live on the very perimeter of a few social circles in DC, but I have no intimates.
It is easy to blame my isolation on my location. I live far enough out of the city for it to be inaccessible to those without cars or enough leisure to add the bus to their rail. No one offers to visit me.
Then again, no one offered to visit me in Bethesda. There was always cajoling and coaxing involved to lure anyone there. Past entries will give witness to the isolation I felt there, too.
I am unhappy, and have been unhappy because I am alone. This is the same reason why I have been unhappy for my whole life. The circumstances have been altered a bit here and there. I still have that childhood longing for a playmate my own age.
I will look back on this time in my life with regret, and say, "Why didn't I do more?" But let me remember--I had no one to do it with.
Facebook--my pseudo-social life--fuels the flame of my discontent. I see their pictures of vacations; of group outings or parties to which I was not invited. Time, precious time, is slipping through my hands like the water of a fast moving current: but I am helpless to grasp it.
There are friends far away who will read this entry once it is written, and I am bound to tell you that this is not a request for help, for there is nothing you can do. I simply must leave evidence of my present circumstances, so that when I put myself on trial in my mind, and, as prosecutor, I shall lay to my charge the loss of my youth, there will be this record to show that there was nothing I could do.