When it's quiet, I imagine all the things that the silence is trying to tell me.
I imagine that my phone is ringing, only I can't hear it.
I imagine that the next e-mail I receive won't be from a mailing list.
I imagine that the distant slam of a mailbox will bring something other than a credit card offer.
I imagine that the sound of car tires on gravel is someone I want to see.
I drown out the silence with news radio and mp3s, running water and the clatter of dishes against a soapy sponge. I awake at the same time and go to bed at the same time, filling the interim space with all this listening to no avail.
As the sun comes up each day, I imagine my hopeful chances evaporating with the heat. I see my yard go to waste and housemates come and go. Plastic fan blades continue to spin, providing minimal relief.
I make lists of things I should be doing, but none of them seems important enough to actually do.
I gotta get out of this.