Another Day In Paradise

the light from the refrigerator illuminates groceries i forgot i had. on this early monday morning, i feel like a stranger in my apartment, or maybe like i just got back after an extended absence. this is what my weekend has become: blurry little whirlwinds in my life where this apartment with its mess and my groceries and bad carpets doesnt really seem to exist at all. and then on monday mornings i return from yoga and say hello to my real life, and spend the day readjusting to this place, this life of mine. but for a few minutes, in the quiet as i wait for my water to boil, i feel like i am walking around in a stranger's life, looking at someone else's mess, someone else's groceries, someone else's bad carpets. and i get to be a voyeur of myself, observing my things and the remnants of my behaviour, and i ask myself questions about this person, try to understand what she is like. and then i sit in the silence and drink my tea, and smoke my cigarette, and stare into space and my regular soul finds its way back into me, and i am myself, for another crazy week, before the ghosts of the weekend come to reclaim me again