From the door to the elevator, there's a long stretch of nothingness that envelops my life. A walk from here to there; from there to here. I live between it, I suppose. It is my path. Here to there and back again.

I sit in front of the television in a blue dress waiting for the Chinese man to deliver my not-so needed chicken and broccoli. My stomach bulges beneath it. I've never worn it before now and remember how it fell open in places when I tried it on. How I looked elegant, but child-like. Perhaps I prefer my new curves. It doesn't matter to me, and it surely doesn't matter to him.

I spoon my cat who took over our whole measly Ikea futon before I decided to lay down. I stroke her soft fur. She meows at first, startled from her nap, and then falls into a coo of purrs. It's nice to have a warm body to lay next to. I wish it was my husband.

He sits at our computer. Keeping in touch with friends through it. I tell him we need to bond and he ignores me. I know he misses home, that our three week vacation to San Diego was just a slap in the face. I miss it too, even after the extended visit. Although this is my "home," the place where I was born, I'd rather have SD any day.

The path beckons me as I emerge from my permanent spot on the couch. The Chinese man has arrived and I must meet him outside the front door of our apartment complex. I go to the elevator. I wait with sweaty palms hoping I don't have to face anyone on the three-floor decent. I take a deep breath--and I'm safe.

I sign my credit card slip. The path is a few feet away. I can make it. I avoid all social attempts by others. My eyes reach the floor and stay there. I know the few inches in front of my toes very well, but the rest is only a blur. Out of focus.

Hot food in my sweaty palms, I arrive at 42D. I open it to my husband on the couch. He's migrated, and has a video game on. I protest. What happened to a good family nighttime television show during dinner? That is how we have been spending our time lately.

"Well, you said you wanted to bond."

"But not like this! I meant a . . . board game or card game. Something quiet where we can look at each other."

"This is fun! Come on. What do you want to play?"

"Magic the Gathering."

"No. Which video game?"

It's a losing battle. We never do what I want to do, so I give in. Then I give up. And I sit at the computer and write this. Why has an otherwise interesting life become so dull?

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