Isolation

I really don't like this new place I moved to. Granted, that's partly because I've been ill ever since I came here, but other than that, I just don't like the isolated feeling. I don't like feeling cut off from the world outside and its goings-on. I can hear the voices and the passing motorbikes, but I can't see outside these walls, and that is somehow keenly disconcerting to me. When I come in from having been out somewhere, it feels like reentering a jail cell. I have only one small room (unless one counts the bathroom as a second room) and a small porch, and in fact I spend most of my time here on that porch where I can see the sky, anyway, and the tree tops, and hear the voices and smell the air. Moreover, I miss having an outdoor kitchen. The extra heat of cooking inside is a bit too much on top of the heat of the day, which is quite sufficient on its own. Honestly, though, it wouldn't really matter if the place was large, like the villa that Louis lives in, for the feeling is the same. It feels too quiet, cut off, pressed in by its own silent space. Suffocating. I think that if I were well, I would very rarely be here in this room. But being ill is its own sort of jail, isn't it--being stuck inside the body that is ill.  It's where I live for the time being. I hope, one way or the other, not to be here much longer.