I keep hitting refresh on my email, hoping there will be something new, interesting, unpredictable. Something spontaneous and true.
It doesn't come.
The windows are drawn in this conference room and I can't even see out to the world that I'm missing. I've seen it all so many times, though, cars whizzing through the same intersections that I'll pass through later on this evening, if I'm lucky, if this meeting ends.
How many times have I been in this room now? So many. And I wonder if I really need to be here now, but I can't make myself get up to move.
This is not one of those times that seems important but it's a time in which I'm alive. I want to be away from the computer and want to be exercising or cleaning or cooking or doing something that involves communicating with another human.
I'd love to have someone waiting at home so I could hear her stories, but that hasn't been the case for many years and I'm too misshapen now to fit through the doorway. I'm resigned to the end of love in my life and the impossibility of having it be any other way.
I keep waiting for a message to come over that would alter my world, would change it in some manner.
It doesn't come.
The six people who are receiving the briefing are listening through the motions, just like I am.
I just tried to find something new to do this weekend, but I didn't find anything.
The spirit of my holidays has faded. I'm neither negative nor positive in writing these words. This feeling of restlessness has been with me for a while and I'm not sure if it will ever change.
I'm confident, though, that this won't last forever and there will come a time when I no longer have to be in this room. I may not be able to guarantee I'll make it to the gym this evening, and I cannot guarantee I will avoid the quicksand of last year's routine.
For now, though, I have to imagine that these are important words and that there is a meaning to them besides just marking time.