Sola

a writing

a mirage

i sit here

writing

typing

tapping fingers

feeling nothing

is that true?

do re mi

fa

a long, long way to run

the sound of music

i hate music

it hurts

who wants those feelings?

leave my feelings alone

i don't want any feelings

go away

leave me alone

alone

alone

alone

sola

...

i thought of writing a book about my life

called

Sola : A Portrait of Social Anxiety

Part I: Hinsdale Street

Chapter One

I stood by our porcelain sink, white enamel wearing off it. No--it was possibly a cast iron sink--the white was wearing off and revealing that black under it. I remember the ripples or corrugations of the draining board to the left of the sink. It was dry. Mom had finished washing the dishes hours before. It was around 10:00 pm. Dad wasn't home yet. I was worried. I was a worried four-year-old girl waiting for Dad to come home. He had never stayed out that late before. It was dark outside. I could see through the windows that it was dark. It was not day time but the time of night; the time that seemed to make Mom and Dad nervous; the time that they watched the news on television about all the bad things that happened between adults, especially at night. 

Part II: Sheridan Avenue

Part III: Poplar Avenue

Part IV: