Chapter XXXVII, in which Adele has a cup of coffee

This morning, over a cup of coffee. I'm sitting right next to the window, kind of reading a book, kind of looking out at the sidewalk, wet from rain. The sun has just come out for a second and I feel my feet getting warm inside my Adidas.

Nothing's really wrong, not terribly wrong. It's just that I feel like saying all these things that have been making breathing a little harder. I don't know what these things are so I can't shake the twilight zone-y feeling, sort of how you feel you when you're about to cry. The sort of feeling you have when you're packing to go home after a trip that has gone well, or when you're unpacking when you've just gotten home and it's empty and silent. I thought it would go away if I could cry, but, you know, it's not really something you can bring yourself to do. And there's nothing terribly wrong going on really. There isn't.

Do you ever think about how people are out there doing stuff, living their lives as if they were not connected to yours in any way? I thought I'd write a letter and just leave it here on the table for someone to find it. The person would take it home and read it while eating dinner, perhaps, and spend some five minutes wondering about who had written it and whether he'd seen me or about what I do and what it is exactly that makes myself who I am. But then it'd be more likely that the waitress would read it or that she'd keep it to return it to me next time I come for a cup of coffee, and the letter wouldn't have served its purpose. So let's just forget about the letter.

It just doesn't feel right that we let people into our lives and then just like that they're gone. I have to check time now - 9:54am - so I don't get late. Even that seems wrong; I don't really give a shit about these people I'm supposed to meet next.

I thought I'd feel better if I cried so yesterday I thought I'd take a hot shower and cry. That can be very liberating. It just got later and later and I had to go to bed so I wouldn't feel like total shit this morning, and guess what? - I do feel like shit this morning. I'm tired and weird and writing all this nonsense. I had very strange dreams last night. I had to run from red headed girls and I got to his room, number 384 or 389, but I wasn't sure you'd let me in, or whether I was still dreaming, so I hesitated for a second before I knocked. I was scared. He was there and he told me to lie next to him and go to sleep. That was very nice, thank you.