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This morning, while I was going to the kitchen, I just realized the sound my steps were making on the hall while I was stepping on the Florentine sand stone on the flooring. There was such a sound; I could hear it carefully, because I just woke up and my senses were strengthened. In that moment on my computer started �TheEND� because of the �shuffle mode� I use on my Winamp. For a moment I felt like clenching my fists. I stopped from walking and I just listened to the melody: I was feeling good. The only thing I was wishing for was my dad screaming at me to lower the volume because it was really high, or maybe just my senses were so awake� My father said nothing, and I was in such a morrisonian mood. I really wished for somebody doing me wrong, saying something I didn�t agree, or anything at all� With great burden I made my first step. When my bare foot hit the sand stone�s surface, my ears were on the point to explode. I never felt that way before� but never felt after that day ever after, not even now while I remember this for putting it down, I realize that was a really unique feeling. I thought: �what would it be if I pay a visit to my brother�; after a quick recapitulation I realized my brother lives with his wife at their apartment downtown, no way I could go to his room and do something (the song didn�t say anything). Then I realized my mother was away, too: at work. The only one home was d(e)ad. I was listening to the lyrics �he walked on down the hall� while I was standing just in front our living/diningroom. Through the doors glass I observed my father was watching TV. In that moment I realized how the idea really started growing on me. And it grew, and it grew, and it grew bigger than ever. I usually have fights with my father; the last I remember was about loud music, and he said I was not going to do the network with my neighbors and I really couldn�t put up with. I am sick of being alone, so I suppose having a network would really help my talkativeness. I was standing in front of that door, in front of my father�s room, when he gets out of there staring at me like he had seen a white ghost. Guess my face suddenly turned white, but I was thinking of him as a future ghost. With a very superior look, he told me with a special tone in his voice expressing he felt obligated to say something, not that he was of any interest in what he was saying. All sounded more like a poem learnt by heart: �Go dress yourself. It�s very cold on the sandstone. I�ll catch a cold again.� |
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