(no subject)
Sometimes I get tired of everything. I’ll be sitting at my desk, typing up something on my computer, and I feel life come crashing down on my shoulders. My feet perched on the bottom of my computer chair, I’ll cup my hands over my eyes trying to calm down, but mostly just wanting to escape from all this for a little while. I’m thinking of another chair, with arms like the one I’m sitting in, but with a wooden frame which brushes against my arms. That chair had a lumpy seat and didn’t have the wheels at the bottom that this one does. So my feet should fall andhit a colder, uneven floor. The parquet flooring was poorly done in that room, and my ripping up of the carpet didn't help. My eyes covered, the same music drowning out California life, my toes curl and remember the uneven floorboards. My skin should be cooling from the open window that should be at my right, not left. The air should smell, not cleaner, but fresher, since the series of floor length windows should all be open, a nice breeze stirring up the heaviness of old dusty rooms. And even though I can’t see, I should be able to stand up, my bare feet planted on the cool floor. As I make my way around the bed to my left, I'll pick up my toes out as I go out of practice so as not to stub them as I have done many times before. I should then lift my legs up, eyes closed, hair whipping around my face since it was so much longer then, and find myself on the balcony. A balcony, narrow like the one here,but rough under my feet from chipped layers of paint, having flaked away the gray color to reveal oranges and reds. Outside, I should be hit by the smells and sounds of a busy, overpopulated metropolis. Of course I’d catch the overwhelming smog, though thirteen stories up, you didn’t mind the air and noise pollution all that much. Not to mention, the view more than makes up for everything. The city sprawls out like a child’s playground when you’re at the top of some small wooden tower. Cars wind around roundabouts, ancient architecture rises discreet, bridges cross the greenish brown river, and gawking pedestrians mill about museums and monuments. All the while, the Eiffel Tower and the basilica atop Montmartre overshadow the city like benign guards, while the Notre Dame shelters the city’s heart at its center. As the sun sets, splashing violent reds and oranges across the sky line, that cold iron tower springs to life, and I can see all the lights sparkle beneath my eyelids as they chase each other up and down her sides. The city shines, and the air gets cold as the sun’s heat ebbs away to the east, and I step back inside and the carpet cushions my footfalls.