Alone.

The door shut. I was furious. Locked out of my apartment, I trudged down the stairwell and out the door. There was only one thing to be done: walk to the office in hopes of a master key. It was the first time I had been out of the apartment in while - maybe days - I don't remember; my sense of time seems to have been distorted. I think it was Wednesday.

It had to have been Wednesday because Thursday I called Shelly. We went to the movies. I bought a small pail of doughnut holes at Sheetz. The tiny morsels were my dinner that night and my breakfast the next morning. No wait; Shelly and I had hot dogs and milkshakes at Meyers Dairy that night, so I ate dinner. The doughnut holes were merely a nightcap. Now I remember.

This is how I'm spending my last week of summer. Time evades me. I sit on a futon in the living room, barely dressed because I'm alone in the apartment, and read. I've read quite a few books. It's raining now. Cool air breezes through the open porch door giving me goose bumps. I went out last night at midnight. A high school friend was celebrating her 21st birthday. There were three of us. It was a gentile night at an uncrowded bar. The bars and restaurants in State College are always nearly empty when Penn State isn't in session. We caught up and told stories. I spent money on a drink I didn't finish. A dry gin martini. I barely touched it. I should have stuck with my usual water with lime.

You tend to hear noises when you're alone. For example, I just heard a popping noise sound from one of the rooms. There is no one here. The neighbors don't make much noise. I actually become startled when I suddenly hear someone talking on a nearby balcony, which is rare. It's a shock. I prefer to talk standing on my balcony when someone calls. I pace. When I'm talking with someone face to face, I often have the urge to wave my hands. I sometimes click a pen cap if I have one in hand. I guess I'm a nervous talker. If seated at a table, I tend to play with my glass. These words I write sound like confessions when they really aren't confessions at all; merely statements. I'm sure people notice these habits of mine just as I notice their habits. A raised voice when asking for a favor. The twiddling of thumbs. A finger raise to pressed lips before starting to talk. You know who you are or perhaps you don't. I think sometimes we miss the characteristics about ourselves that are most apparent to others.

I have too much time to think. Forgive me for my rambling. Rock on rockers. May today be an extraordinary day.