Black dove

She was a January girl

she never let on how insane it was

in that tiny, kinda scary house

by the woods by the woods by the woods by the woods

by Tori Amos

The days pass, gloomy and gray. Each one so similar to the next that they blend into a bland, drab mass. It must have been a week since I'd been in town, or maybe almost two? It was Friday then, but I could be wrong. I do have a calendar, it hangs on the wall in the main room, but what good is that if the red frame has been in the same place for ages? It's

definitely not October anymore, oh no. It's too wet, foggy, and cold for October. The rain and wind tell me it must be later. They're the only guests in my little house. They open the shutters and come clattering in to talk to me. It's been so long since I've spoken to anyone.

There are also the cats. Three large, tabby creatures with torn ears. They've lived in this neighborhood forever; I remember seeing them when I moved here. Sometimes I like them, and sometimes they really annoy me, especially when they try to get on my nerves and seem to be everywhere; everywhere I go, I see a cat. They sleep a lot, though sometimes they go off somewhere and don't come back for days. They're probably hunting then. I don't feed them because I always forget, and they don't remind me. They hardly have time—I rarely eat either. I definitely haven't eaten anything today; I haven't felt hungry yet.

When my supplies run out, which I have plenty of right now, I'll have to go to town. It's complicated. I need to charge the batteries in the old Jeep, get it out of the shed... It's good that at least it hasn't rusted—though when was it supposed to? After all, I only used it recently...—but I'll still have a lot of work to do with it. And lately, I haven't had time to take proper care of it.

What am I doing? Oh, so many things... I don't really feel like listing them. I'm moving things around under the guise of cleaning, reading ten books at a time, listening to music, walking in the forest, talking to cats and the wind, sometimes singing, though rarely lately... I'd love to watch a movie, but the TV seems to be broken, and I don't know how to fix it. That's another thing I'll have to do when I get to town. Maybe the day after tomorrow? I could also go to the cinema. They're playing... oh, I don't remember what, but I heard it's interesting and thought-provoking. Actually, everything makes me think, I have no problem with that, so I could go to anything...

I think I'll feed the birds soon. It's autumn already, so they're having trouble finding food; my bread is stale, and I have some grains too; they should like it. But will they have enough? I can only clearly see a black rook perched on a branch near the window; the rest are disappearing in the fog, but it seems to me there are a lot of them outside.

No, it's more like a pigeon. I was fooled by its color. It's a pity it wasn't a carrier pigeon; maybe it would have a letter for me? No one's written to me for a long time. Well, I haven't written to anyone either, but someone might still think about me. After all, I live in such a remote place; something could have happened to me, but no one wants to make sure I'm okay. If I died, for example, they wouldn't know...

A few days ago, someone was here, passing by my house. But he didn't knock, and I didn't want to talk to him; he passed away very quickly anyway. Other than that, it's perfect peace and quiet here. I'm absolutely free, I can do whatever I want—sleep during the day, and at night, go wild and dance, beating out the rhythm with my heavy boots clattering on the floor, shout and sing, go for evening and night walks—and it's none of anyone's business. I can also do nothing at all for days—and that's fine too.

Actually, it's a bit boring here. And sometimes it's awful. This man made me a little nervous; he walked past my windows so suddenly, and I didn't know why he was there or what he wanted....

Oh, it's already dark, I have to turn on the lamps. Too bad, I won't feed the birds until tomorrow. Surely they won't have flown away by then?

I'm wandering around the house now, turning on the lights. Kitchen, hallway, living room... I don't go into the bedroom right now; I don't feel like it. I rarely go there—all my furniture is in other rooms, and there's only a bed, a wardrobe, and some other things I don't need. Besides, I fell asleep in the living room armchair recently.

I remembered why I don't go into that room. I forgot to light the fire there, and since the wind had gotten in there too, it must be terribly cold inside. I usually remember that I was supposed to do this only when I want to go to bed, and by then, of course, it's too late. Now too; I'll deal with it tomorrow. Tonight, however, I'll spend the night in the armchair again. I won't even change for bed; there's no need; My dress is still clean, pristine blue, and very comfortable.

It's strange how quickly the day has flown by... I got a lot done today and I'm tired, so I'll probably fall asleep soon. I'll just cover myself with a blanket... I don't feel like turning off the lights, let them stay on... And tomorrow morning I'll get in the car and if the fog clears a bit, I'll drive into town. Maybe I'll even buy some nice stationery? I finally need to remind people of my existence. Especially Anna. I'll have to explain to her why I haven't contacted her for so long... I'll apologize and write to her that this house is taking up all my time. I didn't think living alone was so complicated, and now it's here. It seems like whenever I start doing something, it takes hours. And I should wind the clocks anyway. I'm losing track of time. And I think I'll buy myself a regular electronic alarm clock. These are very atmospheric, but I forget to wind them and they stop, and I hate ringing the bell.

It's actually a wonder they haven't cut off my phone yet; the signal still sounds normal, even though it's been months since I paid my last bill. Admittedly, I haven't received one since then, but the offices don't seem to care about incompetent postmen who lose packages and don't want to venture into the woods.

Oh, exactly. I'd love to go to the woods right now. That's the good thing about complete freedom. I can go for a walk at any time without reporting it or announcing when I plan to return. The bad news is that no one's waiting for me with hot tea. I have my sclerosis, I can't remember the last time I had it. Probably yesterday. I can't live without tea; I'm absolutely addicted to it. When I get back from my walk, I'll make myself some. Maybe peach?

I love these kinds of walks around the neighborhood. I've already carved out some pretty clear paths, walking like this every day before bed, and often during the day as well. I don't like to walk any further; I'm afraid I might get lost—but wherever I go, I always see the lights burning in my cottage among the trees. It's funny, but even though I like the dark, I never walk where I can see the dark bedroom windows. I don't even walk around the house. There's something unsettling about dark windows. They've always seemed dead to me, like empty eye sockets...

Oh God, what am I talking about?! I definitely need to get away from here, even for a day, to meet people. It would do me good: I recently fell asleep talking to myself, and I also talk to people who, of course, can't be there at the moment. I tell them things I've never really said face-to-face; important things I should say, but never will again... I also tell them how my day was, I seek their advice on various matters. I explain why I did certain things and didn't do others. I often find myself explaining things to someone, especially my older brother. He's always been my rock, and now I miss him so much... I tell him about my reasons, the same ones every day, and he asks questions that make me delve deeper and deeper into everything, until finally there's not a single thought I wouldn't confide in him.

It feels like he's walking beside me—but it's the wind rustling the branches. There's no one here. I'm completely alone in the vast forest. No one walks beside me, no one talks to me, no one puts their arms around me...

It's time to go home. Of course. It's always at this point that I get home, lock the door behind me, then sit in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket up to my head, and fall asleep, knowing that tomorrow will be foggy again and I won't do anything all day; I won't go to town, I won't light the fireplace in the bedroom, and I'll definitely forget my last thought before falling asleep, even though it's always the same...