I am sitting on my swivelling office chair. It’s the kind of chair I’d never buy for myself, but my landlady (who is russian and old) insisted on me using it. I’m not wearing socks and my feet are slightly cold against the wood floor on account of the window in front of my desk that doesn’t completely close. It’s November. It doesn’t occur to me that should get the window fixed. I’m unconsciously curling and uncurling my toes. There is a heavy book on symbology sitting on my lap. It is what Adam and I are talking about.
“Religious fanatics are always trouble,” he says. I can tell from my concise reading that the book has a disappointing amount of knowledge spread over a large range of subjects. I briefly glance over to my shrine which had three candles and a stick of incense burning on it within the last hour.
“Sure..” In the last fifteen minutes i’ve already corrected him on maybe two other things. I let this one slide. My stomach growls.
“In general, religion is trouble.”
“Well, I’ve got to attempt to write an essay before I sleep. You can keep the book if you’d like”
“Actually i’ll just ask you if i find something i need to reference,” I say, staring at my feet.
Adam stands up, leaves and I shut the door behind him. I settle down, lean against a wall and press a knuckle to my forehead. I fleetingly consider getting something to eat but decide against it. Instead I walk over to my shrine. Bowing, I light the three candles in sequence. Man, his words, the sages. I sit in half-lotus on the cushion with lowered eyes for approximately 20 minutes. I prostrate, I read, I sleep on the floor.