Yesterday morning when I sat up, raised the vinyl shade, and blinked out my bedroom window, I saw the dirty roof of the nail salon that shares a wall with my building. At the end of the day I fell asleep, lids tinged with the neon blue from the salon's light. Maybe it's one of those ultraviolet disinfectant things that barbers and rich people have. I only know the color, which is close to violet but maybe not ultra.
Today when I sat up and looked out the same window, I saw the dirty inside of a shoebox. I won't swear it was a shoebox, because I couldn't see the top of it, only the inside, and you really have to see the top, or at least the bottom, before you can swear to something like that.
It's a shoebox because that's what it looked like, from the inside. I'd call it a big shoebox, because my window is no porthole. I wear size 11, and it was much bigger than that. It took up most of the wall, and I do not live in a shoebox. I live in a largeish one bedroom with study, full kitchen, and stall shower. I pay $800 a month.
The shoebox was full of wires. Once I take the shoes out, I usually fill my shoeboxes with wires too. I like electronic things, and computers, so I tend to accumulate a lot of wires. This wasn't my shoebox.
However, mine was the only window inside this shoebox. Even with my window, my gnomish landlord, and some cords, it wasn't full. Not like the rabbit's nests I keep around here: three 25' CAT-5 cables, two AC adapters, one USB cable, a cell phone car charger and a phone cord, and that's just one Hush Puppies box in the top right corner of the closet. Oh, and some batteries, which might be dead but still roll around.
I wasn't very happy about the situation, once I realized that no one was going to raise the lid. Shoeboxes are nice for holding wires, but they are bad for getting sun. Without sun in the morning, and a hot shower, I can't wake up. Inside a shoebox is no way to live. Plus, this shoebox was so big that someone was going to have to sweep inside it at least once a week, and I wasn't about to volunteer for duty.
I closed my eyes again and tried to picture yesterday, with its sunlight and snowflakes. I wouldn't mind the way the shoebox might keep the snowflakes and raindrops out for a while, like newspapers on the train platform. But my window didn't leak that much. I looked at my landlord, but he was busy with the wire, his beard grunting against the window whenever a knot came loose. At his age, I worried about him being all hunched over like that. Better wait and ask him about the leak later. I still had time for a hot shower, so the day was not a total loss.