It is raining again...

It is raining again, and I am thinking too much. There seems to be a mild chill in the room. I sit here, listening to the distant sirens beyond and attempt to gauge their distance. They do seem to be coming closer, ...It is no matter, I can hear that they have moved past. I type on...

It has been raining a lot lately. And you see, I don't have a car. If I want to go anywhere I must use "what God gave me." Snickers to myself. There is no point beginning all that, God is dead. One either clings to the remains, or not...I shrug to no one and it rains.

And so the last few days, I have gotten soaked just on a trip to the supermarket.
I have to say, I feel anxious a lot lately...because of the rain.
The rain also means that it has taken days longer for the landlord to have the fence
extended down the side of the house. I awoke the other day, to the sound of sawing, hammering. I guess I will enjoy the extra privacy it will provide, however all this rain,
and their digging...I don't like them digging around out there.

It is raining much harder now, I can hear it, turning it all into mud, getting right into
the dirt, loosening things up. I peer out the window briefly into the grey wet day. I have work later on today, I must remember that. I can not stay here all day, with the door shut tight, ruminating and brooding over the weather.

I turn on the heater, get back into bed and make myself a sandwich. I always buy food I can make and eat in the privacy of my room.
I prefer not to be in the kitchen, even when the flatmates...the flatmate isn't home. It
makes me anxious. I don't like him looking at me, watching me cook. I don't like him
watching me eat. So I stay in my room until the time comes to go to work.

I normally hear his morning traipse down the hall, and first to the toilet, and then into the bathroom for a shower. I will hear the hot tap turned on, then the squeak of the cold shortly after. I know he will leave the bathmat on the floor again, soaked. It has developed a nasty inky black mould. I do not want to touch it.
This morning I did not hear any of these overly familiar morning noises. However after the late, late night I had, it doesn't surprise me. I must have slept through.

It rains, and my cheap fan heater rattles. I have a headache from the wine last night,
and a feeling of increasing anxiety. I don't normally tend to drink at all these days.
Makes me crazy. Well to be fair, once I get started I tend not to be able to stop. I only
had a few wines...a little more... and he was far drunker than I, even at the beginning
when he invited me into his room to "listen to music." I don't know why I accepted.
I guess it was the way he invited me, instead of coming to my room, knocking on my
door...invading the sanctity of my bedroom, he very non intrusively texted me, on my
cellphone. I remember peering at the text for a few moments, then impulsively
deciding to do it.

I was wearing my pijamas at the time, it was late...he had obviously been into town,
and failed to attract the attention of any ladies... So I hurredly changed my clothes,
sprayed myself with deodourant. I didn't manage to shower yesterday...I just sat
around in bed, debating in a online forum.

I went down to his room, the nice room. The room I would like to have for myself. It
is much larger and has a beautiful view of the sea. The door was open already, so
there was no need to knock. I could hear music playing...
I walk in somewhat awkwardly and sit on the far end of the couch. He says Hello, and
I can tell by the slurring of his speech that he is very intoxicated. I really do not like
drunk people, and I always think, the only way to tolerate drunk people, is to be
drunk yourself. So that when he offers me a generous red wine, I accept.
And to be honest, I have never been an appreciator of wine, I tend to throw the stuff
down my throat, and forego the whole "tasting" experience...he is telling me that the
wine is expensive. I am thinking that I don't care.

I feel much more relaxed, we talk about the music on his computer because there is
nothing else to talk about. We don't have a lot in common...I refill my glass, the wine
is a very dark red. He begins to ask me what music I like. I can't really be bothered
prattling off long lists, I mention a few names, and we go back to discussing his music.
He hands me the bottle and I refill my glass, realising only now that it is again empty.

I think his music is boring, I want to talk about something else. I am becoming
argumentative...I know it is the effects of the alcohol...yet I continue anyway. I strike
up a conversation about psychology and mental illness. It is obvious he has little idea
what I am talking about, which I guess makes me feel smug.
I am getting much drunker now. I am starting to feel sloppy and out of control. It
takes me a lot longer than it should have to realise he is leering at me, talking
inappropriately. He asks me if I am a "cold girl"...I don't understand immediately that
he means "frigid". I am at a loss of what to say. I was not expecting this at all, for some reason. It has caught me totally off guard. I try to pretend I don't care, which maybe he has mistaken for vague approval, or a chance....

His words are extremely slurred now...I feel strange....I am drinking the wine fast, I
ask if he minds if I finish the bottle, he laughs derisively. He seems to be having trouble focussing his eyes on me.

I upend the bottle and pour the contents down my throat. I am feeling its effects in a
big way, I begin to sway. He goes to stand up, and lunges at me hands out, I think to
assault or molest me. But he is really only grabbing for my shoulder to steady himself.

But it is far too late, I have already begun to swing the bottle downward in a sharp arc
upon his head. He gives a sort of yelp of surprise and pain, and topples to the floor,
sending his laptop sprawling and shattering his wine glass. He begins to get up, and I
could not tell you quite what came over me, but I raised the unbroken wine bottle,
and brought it down again on his head hard, and again and again...I didn't realise a
wine bottle could be so tough, I had expected it to break by now, unlike his head
which seems to be bleeding more and more with every blow...From a detached
distance I vaguely think about blood on the carpet...

I am not sure how to use this cellphone really, not much of a texter. I scroll through
the contacts list, enter the name I require...two names actually mine being one of
them.
"goin awy 4 da w/e, nt sur wen il b bk." Send the message. It is not easy to push the
buttons when not quite touching the phone, and his phone is a lot fancier than mine,
it will be a shame to have to dispose of it...

I can hear them hammering again out there today...I had thought they were finished.
I feel sick. It has stopped raining though, I guess it makes sense. And it was
convenient for them to leave their equipment here over night, and now that I think
about it...the rain has smoothed away the recently disturbed soil...
I say these things mostly to calm myself. The wall seems so thin to me just now. I
almost feel they are aware of me here, and are even able to hear the striking of each
of these keys...

To feel...

It is rather remarkable the brain's ability to not feel, I have spent many an hour contemplating this abstract grey numb slab, this meaty blossoming. Almost smug in its lofty position. And yet through this lacking, this absence of sensation is created the most profound ability TO FEEL.
My heart lurches, the mind thinks. Secreting these thoughts to ooze like bile. Stretched out for science to examine. But what does science see, when it casts its gaze upon me?
Personified and peering through lenses, are they shades of grey as my pre dawn or startling static blacks and whites progressing through my ambiguity to cold functionality? The future, it is streamlined and gleaming. This is the promise,
though I see nothing which clarifies this position, only more subjection.