It’s not the first thing you notice when you walk in. It’s subtler than that, more nuanced. It hides itself behind the dusty, almost burnt-plastic smell of electric heating, waiting until you’ve closed the door behind you. It lurks there, until you’re several feet into the kitchen. Then the individual elements of the overall aroma become distinguishable, and the scent becomes overwhelming.
There’s the powdery stench of the rotten flowers, decomposing in their plastic pitcher vase, pollen coating the counter space (and everything else) around them. There’s the musky, stale smell of coffee that has been sitting in the pot for several weeks, a layer of blistery mold growing on top of it, like algae on a pond. There’s the acidic tinge of vinegar wafting from the pasta salad in the rubbish; the smell of a jar of minced garlic, left open on the counter for god knows how long; the powerful, if not imagined scent of the dead spiders, frozen, mid-scurry, in the innumerable spider traps around the apartment.
This is the fetor of depression. This is what it smells like to give up.
I want to clean. I really do. I’m sick of the filth, the clutter, the absolute rank of my apartment. But at this point it’s become an Augean task, an undertaking of massive proportions. And I don’t have the energy. This is worse than just being lazy; it’s complete emotional and physical enervation.
But, I suppose, this too shall pass.
2.
In my astronomy class, we talk about the autumnal equinox; I learn that ‘equinox’ is the word used to describe the moment when the sun is directly above the Earth’s equator, how this alignment (when it happens on 9.23) officially heralds in fall, the elliptical shape of the Earth’s orbit, about seasons, and about equinoctial points. Every time the professor says ‘equinoctial,’ I think of the word ‘quixotic.’ I want to believe that this two words are linked in my mind for some undetermined romantic reason, but I know it probably has more to do with homonymic similarities than anything profound.
While jotting down vaguely coherent notes about celestial coordinates, I wonder how the universe--with its infinite space and complexity--manages to keep itself so completely in order.
3.
