Tuesday, January 30
I walk in. The darkness blinds me, and he shuts the door on me with finality. A frantic impulse to turn around and hammer at the door, plead to be let out. "It isn't locked", I remind myself. Shut in with my own thoughts. A situation to avoid at all costs, normally. But sometimes inescapable. Who was that who
had said 'To love yourself is the beginning of a lifelong love affair'? He must have been an exceptionally nice person. I fumble for the light switch. Momentary panic, and then the flooding relief of the familiar switch against my fingertips. Red light gently washes over me. So gentle that I can hardly discern the menacing outlines populating the room. I still an overwhelming impulse to whip around and confront the stranger breathing down my neck. "There is noone else here", I whisper reassuringly under my breath. Willing myself to stop chasing shadows, an atavistic impulse at best. I reach for the familiar satin. Black, of course. I can hardly see it. But the touch brings back reality. The solid rectangle reminds me of my purpose, of the world on the other side of the door. Light, people (even the annoying ones), chatter. The darkness changes. It lifts off my eyes. It gives me back some space, generously. Claustrophobia recedes. I hear myself hum a tune. I roll up my sleeves and get to work. The darkness whispers in my ear. It is my friend. I smile.