I've always wondered what people do when nobody's watching.
What do people do when they are alone on a rainy Saturday in the middle of July? Or any week day after work, when you arrive home and everything is clean? What do people do?
Do they talk with the cats? Open a bottle of wine? Watch Tv as if the world, the whole world, isn't on the other side of the window?
I know what I do, all the silly things I do, but I kind of wonder if these are the normal things to do - wine and cake and tea and drawings and cat and coffee (gOD I needed it) and writing and photographies and waiting for something else, for something big, that I don't even know what it is, to happen but it doesn't.
I'm pretty sure that there is a study on this, there is a study on everything these days, or a book... maybe one of those "what to do when you arrive home and you live alone and everything is clean for dummies", but I'm no dummie and after so many years doing the same things - cooking, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, planning life for two, now that I don't really feel like cooking, that I use one glass and one cup a day, now that the laundry is for one and can be done once a week, now that I don't even feel like planning my own life, these free hours just seem strange. I'm not complainning, I love having the house for myself, I love that I have time for the gym, and that I can eat something as simple as a salad or a pasta, I love that the house is always clean and shinning, and I love that I can plan my vacations just for me (museums and museums and cafés) but there are some hours, some moments, some free rainy days, that seem too much of another life.
Everytime I go for a cigarette in the balcony I check the buildings around. I check the flowerless balconies, the blinds closed, the flickering lights of tvs, occasionally someone else's cigarette break, but mostly closed blinds, people living in closed boxes and me wondering what are they doing in there and I wished I was living in Holland where I could actually see what do people do, the paintings on their walls, their family or lonely meals. I think that if I live in Holland I would take a walk at night, every night, just to see what do people do.
In those moments I would call you, my love. After the drawings, after the cake, after the plants, with the wine and the cat waiting for the bed, I would call you. And I'd tell you about my new plans, I'd tell you that rainned all day, I'd ask you about your day - you could tell anything, just think about your silly moment of the day - I'd tell you about my new underwear that I'm wearing just now and that the local news says that we'll have more riverside beaches next year.
I would call you on any subject in those moments, just to check on you, just so you could check on me. Isn't it what people do?
What do you do?
Everytime I go for a cigarette in the balcony I check the buildings around. I check the flowerless balconies, the blinds closed, the flickering lights of tvs, occasionally someone else's cigarette break, but mostly closed blinds, people living in closed boxes and me wondering what are they doing in there and I wished I was living in Holland where I could actually see what do people do, the paintings on their walls, their family or lonely meals. I think that if I live in Holland I would take a walk at night, every night, just to see what do people do.
In those moments I would call you, my love. After the drawings, after the cake, after the plants, with the wine and the cat waiting for the bed, I would call you. And I'd tell you about my new plans, I'd tell you that rainned all day, I'd ask you about your day - you could tell anything, just think about your silly moment of the day - I'd tell you about my new underwear that I'm wearing just now and that the local news says that we'll have more riverside beaches next year.
I would call you on any subject in those moments, just to check on you, just so you could check on me. Isn't it what people do?
What do you do?
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