short snippet of a short story....

i like words and words that describe moments and scenes, here is a short snippet of a short story i am writing.

6 Months. I woke up this afternoon to the perfect weather but without the perfect mind. The questions rolled in and the answers never followed. The emptiness once again filled my stomach and ironically created a hollow space. No hunger however, and surely no thirst. I wanted nothing and no one. And without a calendar I knew-- 6 months. Why can’t I just get past 6 months, what is the significance?

I want to blame it on my runny nose.

He played music, whistling and drumming the beats on whatever surface that came past his hands. I stood in my towel. Eyes lost in the white sky knowing fully well what was going on. I didn’t try and fight it, I really just gave in. Staring into the bland world -finding out that everything was really actually nothing.
Today I couldn’t even find the steadiness or energy to dress my eyelids with the black line they usually wear.

With the lack of inspiration I looked around my memories and found nothing that lit my mind on fire. I relied on the heater. 74. Toasted multigrain with melted butter and the smallest amount of jam that I recognize as perfection when it reminds me of a shade of blush my old piano teacher used to wear. I relied on the crunch. For a moment I was satisfied.

He made the calls. Many of them and I halfway listened to the excitement his tone revealed. I sunk into the slump of my disposition and began waiting for tomorrow. A whole evening and night away I felt nothing. I wanted sadness, even anger. Frustration seemed sufficient- but, nothing happened. I questioned if I was alive. I know better than to listen for a heartbeat- I listened for a feeling. An emotion.
With no avail I confirmed the answer.

The sound of French accents filled my left ear and I was amused by the way my right ear felt like it was listening to complete silence. This just reminded me of my constant duality. I am convinced I can turn half of myself off, while the other half functions with perfect precision. What does this mean?

When the world became less bland I stopped looking. I knew what I was doing. I needed this time to see nothing and be stuck, disappointed and lost--I wanted nothing to do with the rest. Blindfolding myself from anything that could increase life in my empty mind, I told the synapses to stop and I forced myself to stay disconnected.

This is a recharge. I know it seems reversed and terribly masochistic. So what?

We drive in the cold with the top down and the heat up. 86. I watch other people’s lives move by me just like the insipid movie that I was to watch hours later. Lights changed and the same coat seemed to walk by me a hundred times. I close my eyes.