Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
You see alot up there, but dont be scared.
There is a girl who lives next door to me who is always sick. I’ve never met or seen her but I hear her all her time. Throwing up.
The first time it was in the morning, and I thought felt for her, I thought she was pregnant and it was morning sickness and that it would pass.
Then I heard it again, another time, in the afternoon. Then not to long after I heard her vomiting in the evening, really hocking it up. Then more and more I’d get up, come home or wake in the night and I’d hear her being sick.
I began to think she was ill. Like it was from chemotherapy or something I didn’t understand or some horribly intense stomach bug. But it kept going and I heard her coughing and coughing till she was sick.
At all different times - coughing and coughing until she was sick.
Sometimes I’d go to the window and look out onto the wall of her building, working out which rooms were bathrooms from their always closed frosted window glass. I’d try and see movement through the shadows and the light. I’d try and see if she was in that building, and if I couldn’t see movement work out she must be in mine, and the echoes travel up the walls and into my apartment, into my room where I’m trying to study under the harsh lamp.
Sometimes I’d feel sick with her when she was vomiting so loudly. I feel each wet lump that rushed up her throat and out her mouth.
Sometimes, not that often, I’d get annoyed at her, interrupting my breakfast with her sickly noise and ruining the quiet that I liked while I read my paper. But mostly I was sad for her, sick of her sickness for her, sick and sad for her.
And now the coughing has stopped.
I never hear her anymore.
Now when I read my paper, eat my breakfast or study and study in the stifled heat of my room, I listen out, I’ll hear a cough from somewhere and wait, bracing for what follows, but nothing does, and I’m without a reason to stop reading, or eating to wonder what’s going on.
The first time it was in the morning, and I thought felt for her, I thought she was pregnant and it was morning sickness and that it would pass.
Then I heard it again, another time, in the afternoon. Then not to long after I heard her vomiting in the evening, really hocking it up. Then more and more I’d get up, come home or wake in the night and I’d hear her being sick.
I began to think she was ill. Like it was from chemotherapy or something I didn’t understand or some horribly intense stomach bug. But it kept going and I heard her coughing and coughing till she was sick.
At all different times - coughing and coughing until she was sick.
Sometimes I’d go to the window and look out onto the wall of her building, working out which rooms were bathrooms from their always closed frosted window glass. I’d try and see movement through the shadows and the light. I’d try and see if she was in that building, and if I couldn’t see movement work out she must be in mine, and the echoes travel up the walls and into my apartment, into my room where I’m trying to study under the harsh lamp.
Sometimes I’d feel sick with her when she was vomiting so loudly. I feel each wet lump that rushed up her throat and out her mouth.
Sometimes, not that often, I’d get annoyed at her, interrupting my breakfast with her sickly noise and ruining the quiet that I liked while I read my paper. But mostly I was sad for her, sick of her sickness for her, sick and sad for her.
And now the coughing has stopped.
I never hear her anymore.
Now when I read my paper, eat my breakfast or study and study in the stifled heat of my room, I listen out, I’ll hear a cough from somewhere and wait, bracing for what follows, but nothing does, and I’m without a reason to stop reading, or eating to wonder what’s going on.
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