Chapter Eighteen: That Not So Warm Place Between the Mattress and the Ceiling.

I often find myself laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, alone, wondering if this is it. If this is all that awaits me. I stare at the same spot on my ceiling, it can be found to the north-west of the lighting fixture that is located in the center of the ceiling. I'm staring at my ceiling expecting something to change. Expecting to notice something that wasn't there before, something new, exciting, and full of life.

Strangely enough, there does appear to be something new. Near the window, on the northern wall, there appears to be some sort of something that lives about a foot and a half below the ceiling. I've never seen this something, but Charlie, my cat, is very insistent about sitting on my dresser and staring at this spot on a nightly basis. I can only imagine what he sees, that I don't. Or perhaps this spot on the wall is like my spot on the ceiling. Just there. After all, it's easier for a cat to look at a wall than the ceiling.

Every inch of my body is telling me that something isn't right. That something is missing. As I stare at my ceiling, thoughts start running through my head. I start to think about the small things life has to offer, the things you can only experience a limited number of times in this life time. Things that I wish I was experiencing at that moment. Instead, I'm still looking into this empty space, and it hits me. I'm alone.

In reality, I'm never alone. I have a family that I love so very much. I have two cats, that despite everything, I also love. Actually, I don't remember the last time I was physically alone. I don't have that walk to or from work every day. I don't get "down time". I guess that's mostly my fault though, seeing as it is a choice that I made.

What I mean by I'm alone, is that I'm alone in my thoughts, my dreams, and my desires. No one shares them with me. They are mine and mine alone. And it's hard. Constantly wondering if the feeling is mutual, more often than not, finding out that it's not. I'm a touchy, feely type person, once you grow on me. Even a feeling so small, like a finger being run across my shoulder is paradise to me. Lucky for me, I have my family, and don't often feel lost for very long.

I'm also an over-emotional, sentimental person. I keep everything, and love to reminisce. I can talk for hours, if not days about points in time that stick out in my mind. I remember I once had my grandfather, whom I always called Ope, buy me 3 slices of pizza before he finally bought one I'd eat. That memory is by far the most vivid of my childhood. I think I was maybe 4 years old.

Without the small gestures of passion, and desire, and touch, I often feel as if I'm dying. I need these gestures to thrive. I guess that explains my undying love for my Vantage. There's nothing quite like the feeling of it's strings vibrating beneath my calloused fingers, or the feeling of the coolness of the wood seeping through my jeans until we are both comfortably at body temperature, warming slowly over a few life changing songs.

I can't change who I am, what I want, and I wouldn't even if I could. Life is short, and it's up to us as individuals with hopes and dreams to pursue the things that will make us happy. In my case, it's strictly emotional. For some people, like myself, that connection is enough, more than enough, more than you could ever really ask for. Other people want material things. Which is fine, as long as it's really what you want.

I suppose in my case, I'm just want to fill that void between the mattress and the ceiling.