My refrigerator is always making the same aching, creaking sounds, day and night. The only respite I get is when I turn its temperature up — but with how warm my little apartment can get, I then feel I run the risk of something spoiling. So, I let it run, and let it groan; I put in my headphones and ignore it. A classic strategy.

There is always so much noise here. The fridge, the radiator, the always-rehearsing cellist next door, the baby down the hall and the popular party-goers across from it. A cacophony of other lives weaving together in an atonal symphony.

And what is my contribution? Silence, punctuated by an accidentally-slammed door? Or ringing peals of my laughter at something only I could really find funny?

Or I do I flatter myself by saying I am part of the music? Every orchestra plays for an audience, after all...

[A few lines are omitted].

I can't quite place my own emotions, except for the dread that's seeping into everything — or, siphoning my joy of living out. Seasonal depression, or, a malaise.

Originally written by hand on February 9, 2025. Transcribed and edited for clarity.