Four walls surround me. My shoes fall from my feet, and I pull on warm fuzzy slippers I have knitted while sitting at my desk.
I log-on my computer and check e-mail, Facebook, Twitter and Linked-in, my social networking with the world.
A ball of crochet thread and ninety five completed squares for my Parquetry Pane bedspread beckon me to crochet a little. "Just one round," they say to me.
A cat meows, her front paws on my leg, her head cocked to the left, not because that's how she likes it, but because that's how she was left after her recent illness. I pick her up and love on her as she sits on my lap digging her nails into my leg. (I'll probably get cat-scratch fever.)
My Hoover upright vacuum looms beside my desk. A presence saying, na-na-na-na-na-naaa... (as in the childhood game). I lay it down gently, screw driver in hand (Phillips, not vodka) and begin taking it apart. This machine will not win over me. I cut the strings of carpet from its rollers; take each screw out of the body, making a mental note of where they were so I can put it back together when I'm done. I clean it, dry it, giggle some intricate parts inside it and...voilà. My repair shop has completed the job. Runs like new. I clean this room, vacuuming stray pieces of cat litter strung across the carpet.
Tonight is movie night. We watch old black and whites on the telli', munching popcorn and downing large iced teas.
I kiss my love goodnight in this room. Gentle words are whispered forever to linger in the space of our great room, our room where we live.
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