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Sitting at my desk, letting the warmth of my little corner of the world slowly seep into my cold and tired body, I have the whole, empty apartment to myself.  The piece of cheesecake I thought had been left in the fridge for me is gone and I am so very sad about that;  I can picture my face having crestfallen upon opening the fridge and discovering a bare shelf instead of a promising box of happiness.  I must therefore content myself with a can of sun-dried tomato flavoured tuna and crackers - a far cry from the potential slice of cheese heaven I had imagined making love to upon arriving home.  To my small octangular white plate, I add a few sliced pickled beets, a hard-boiled egg and two pieces of Feta, creating a smorgasbord of culinary weirdness.  Can you tell I have not done my groceries in a little while?  Under the horrible circumstances of not being able to inhale a promised morsel of sweet cheesecake goodness, I have been forced to add some form of cheese to my plate in order to compensate.

Surrounded by my bright turquoise office walls and bookshelves filled beyond capacity with my beloved books, I am listening to Linkin Park's "Waiting for the End".  The poignant lyrics flow from my mouth without my conscious knowledge of their doing so and I am typing away while visual snippets of my great day flash in my mind's eye.  The music is a little louder than usual at this hour given that my roomie is MIA and I am happily chatting with one of my adored female friends about our respective days as I reread a few of my blogs.  I nibble at my strange combination of food while Velvet periodically maneuvers herself between my legging-clad calves, the sound of her nails hitting the hardwood floor as she again and again walks away make it seem as though she is wearing a feline version of stilettos.  The softly jangling bell on her red plaid collar gently announces her presence once again near my left foot even before I see her sitting there calmly.  She places her two front paws on the edge of the chair's cushion, looks up at me and meows, signifying her confusion as to why she is still sitting on the floor rather than in my lap.  I gently scoop her up in my arms, her persistent initial resistance undercut by her almost instantaneous purring, and hold her close against me, feeling her tiny body relax.  I place her on my lap and continue to type, letting her settle more comfortably in the hollowed space created by my having my right leg curled under my left;  she stays and purrs for awhile as I pet her sleek warmth. 

Disturbing my baby from her short rest, I decide to take a brief break from the blogging, chatting and checking of emails by going outside on my front balcony, becoming disconnected from everything and everyone for that small moment.  The air outside as it caresses my face is very crisp and the usual sound of traffic coming from Langelier is non-existent at this hour.  A few cars pass every once in a while, but the streets are otherwise deserted.  I lean again the unyielding, cold brick wall and close my eyes for a few seconds, listening to the bizarre elongated pods rustling and swaying in the bare branches of the tree in my landlord's yard.  Looking up at the mere two stars peeking out from their cloudy blanket and then glancing at the darkened window next door, I think about my sleeping mother, hoping that she is feeling better and knowing that she won't tell me if she isn't.  The windows in the other apartments across my street are blackened save for a few;  I wonder what those people are doing and if they are wishing for sleep as I am.  I am hoping for the sweet release of slumber to take its hold, but I know that will not happen for another few hours, so I stand on my balcony, my ratty pink Concordia sweatshirt that has seen better days providing me with a limited coverage from the nippy breeze.  I watch the smoke from my cigarette circling up into the night sky and thank those two stars that I have such fantastic friends in my life.