The Building

 

I decide it’s been long enough that I’ve been crammed up in the bedroom, staring at my computer, so I change out of my pyjamas into my jean dress and black sweater. “I should probably make sure other people exist too and that I’m not floating on planet Pluto”, I think to myself. I often find, that the longer I spend on my own, not seeing or talking to another human being, either on the phone or in person, I get lost in my thoughts. I have learned this can be dangerous territory for me, so I try to stay connected to others as much as possible.

I lock the door behind me and am greeted by one of the other ladies on the floor. She is an older lady, with white hair, wearing a shirt with pink flowers on it. I compliment her shirt. She remembers my name, and I am grateful to feel like others know I exist. It’s easy for me to feel invisible at work, when most of the time, people just want to get home and unpack their grocery order, which averages about $200 per order. She asks me how my partner’s dad is doing, and I give her a quick update. It seems like people in this building genuinely care about each other.

It is tucked away and a peaceful oasis for me. I am thankful for the people I get to know on the floor, and when they talk to me at work.  They make me feel welcomed, and as though I am part of a community. It’s funny, I don’t seem to have that same sense of connection with the others who live on the other floors. It seems to be a bit cliquey. I am reminded of university, where I was also on the same floor number. Each floor was its own sense of support.

 I also lived on this same floor number in two other apartment buildings back when I was renting with three other students and living alone. The thought of this number starts to feel weird. It isn’t until I get writing sometimes, that I am able to breakdown these thoughts and share them with others without it sounding like mumbo jumbo where people look at me like I am making connections that make no sense.