am i who i say i am

Night is settling in; the sound of traffic bounces off cement walls and I can hear the drive clearly even from the back bedroom of the apartment. I feel quite satisfied. Winter is a season of the past; snow melted and green things poking from the earth. Tired from a good day's work, bare-fingered from working in the yard, turning up everything worn and dirtied from the winter. Working outside is so satisfying. I have secret unrealistic dreams of hobby farming or having private acres of land to create my own little haven.

I like to hammer things and clean things and dig up things and chop things. I wish I was enough of carpenter to build my own four-poster bed, but that may come. I dreamed up long ago how I could build such a bed with simple materials, and then saw this bed in a tredy futon store in Kensington this past weekend, for over $1,000. It was beautiful and made me laugh. I think I should try building one. Martin may be dreading the prospect of such a project as it took me 6 months to finally complete the window sill in our bathroom. But maybe I can win back his confidence.

The apartment creaks and the ceiling makes odd noises; sometimes it sounds as if ghosts are walking above our apartment. We are on the top floor and there are no apartments above, yet it often sounds like someone is walking and thumping on the roof. I don't believe in ghosts, of course, at least not in the traditional "haunted by a poltergeist" sense, but it definitely sounds like someone is up there sometimes.

It's too dark now and evening has lost it's charm. The only light in the apartment is the white of the computer screen. Martin's already gone to bed and he's too quiet, therefore I miss him. I have been an insufferable tease today; I am sure he's enjoying his moment's peace. But now I will go cut that short.