# 10. Revel.

I have waited too long. Pretending to be comfortable in this sticky, fibro life. It's time to go.
The heavy, woollen blanket itches the backs of my reddening knees and with each passing second I can bear it a little less. I give up sitting on the bed. Pacing seems a good enough way to pass these shuddering moments. Waiting for my family to return seemed a significant thing to do, but now I ache to be free.

My pacing changes subtly, and I find myself making a slow tour of the house.
Each peeling room is torturously bright, as though begging me to remember it with painful clarity. I carry myself delicately, squinting to observe the humble dwelling. I know it would hurt more not to take a last look.

I reach the front door surprisingly quickly. Dark oak. Brass handle.
This door is full of false bravado. Obviously thinking itself sturdy and indestructible.
How wrong the notions we have of ourselves can be. Carefully I trace the carvings in the frame that mark our heights and ages at various intervals. It seems such a pointless way to mark the passage of Time. On a door that will be left behind in our dusty past. Our life- Time, is really marked by the doors we leave behind. Opening and closing and leaving.

With these bitter thoughts, all shards of sentimentality seep away.
I am sick of waiting. I want to feel reality beneath my feet.

The door moves easily when I touch the handle- reaffirming its true fragility. I take my suitcase and shuffle across the porch. The weather is impeccably perfect. Slightly windy, fresh. The kind of weather that tangles your hair and makes you believe something good is coming.
This weather demands a spring in your step. I will comply.

The local bus to the interstate terminal runs every half hour. Which gives me 15 minutes to get to the closest bus-stop. This weather will carry me there. As I take the front gate at a run, I can't help but click my heels.
Revelling