Circles

Walking around in circles. I have a whole condo to myself. Its weird for me to say I am living in a condo. A condo. It sounds so foreign. So glamorous. It sticks to my tongue. I have gotten used to saying, “I live on a boat. I live in whichever city, town, or country that boat happens to be in.” This sentence sounds natural coming out of my mouth but saying, “I’m staying at the condo. By the beach. In San Diego” sounds strange. But what can be more real than steel and concrete and plate glass.
And I am alone. I realize I haven’t been alone for a long time. A very long time. Not just alone for a night or two I’ll see you soon honey. I’m partnerless for a month or more. Sure friends could come over, my mom may stop by unannounced, J may come back sooner than later; but technically I could be in this condo for days weeks without having to leave and I wouldn’t really need to talk to or see anyone. Except that my cupboards are bare save an industrial size can of Que Bueno nacho cheese that can only taste good for maybe one or two helpings until you hit your lifetime limit of artificial processed cheese flavoring and coloring. I don’t think Trader Joe’s delivers but Papa Johns does. I would get big and fat and pasty white (Pizza dipped in Que Bueno?) and just have to grumble hello and thanks to the poor young guy delivering my nourishment. He’d wonder why someone living right on the beach would fail to leave her condominium (there’s that word again, awkward to my tongue and my fingers). We would become friends after a couple weeks worth of deliveries, he would start to serenade me from the little walkway separating me from the pool separating me from the beach with old Weezer songs. "If you want to destroy my sweater..." He would try to lure me down to the finely ground sand, cigarette butts and chewed up Barbie legs sprouting from the grains. I would refuse and reassuringly state that I am “taking a break ” and plan to stay put inside for a while. I’ve been around people and “I need a respite from humanity.” Sounds kind of funny to him too, this future pizza delivery boy friend of mine. What when there are waves to catch and beers to drink and freckles to multiply and friends to laugh with over sushi and wine.
So I will leave my lair. I can hear the skateboarders on the concrete, their wheels like rain makers until they hit the cracks (kerchunk kerchunk), the runners pounding slower rhythms behind them, the tan mothers with sunkissed nuggets in strollers babbling away in the smoke-sunny air.
I’m at a loss of what to do in this condo anyway. I had so many ideas of what it would be like to have some time, have some space. But for now in this novelty of silence I walk from end to end and it seems like so much room, dare I say non-efficient immobile wasted room to a sailor, but conversely welcomed by someone who has been living within a 64 foot (or less) hull for years. I’ve cleaned out some kitchen cupboards and drained myself on the internet and cooked some rice spiced with cardamom and tried to try to be creative and fruitful.

They say walking in circles is a form of meditation.
I’m not sure my pizza boy would agree.