i am sitting

Here I am, my butt bones perching at the rim of the wooden chair, crouching over, my feet on the chair next to me, my laptop atop a pile of books stacked at the table. The table, it's cluttered with books, all sorts of books. Math books, music books, library books, textbooks. It has pencils and pens, chapsticks and staplers, hole punchers and Shop Rite receipts. It reeks of home. Home, home, home. It is cluttered and messy, but it is not dirty. The yellow tablecloth is underlying the little pieces of memory, little pieces of home.
The house smells like the subtle aroma of dinner, of that dinner that makes us all running downstairs, upstairs, down the hallway, into the kitchen, when we smell the food and hear our mother shout at the top of her lungs, DINNER!
I hear my brother humming cheerfully, happily, downstairs in the basement, I hear the water running as my mother chases to wash the dishes, I hear the dishes clink and clank, greet each other and talk, I hear the tat-tat-tat of the rain outside. I hear it rise, I hear it stand up, I hear it roar. I hear the rain slapping our roof, hitting the side of our windows in line, throwing the occasional spear as it crashes onto our soil with a loud BOOM!, letting out yellow sparks and pushing dogs under beds and kids under covers.

I lean in to the screen, looking at the words, my eyes squinting at the letters, bigger now, but pixellated, looking at each letter appearing at every click of the keyboard, the silent, patient, blinking line that leads my letters to be typed on the page; I look at each square that displays a color, black and white, grey and red, orange and blue, forming together to make a picture on the screen, a word on the screen, making that 'e', even though, if you look at it close enough, press your nose close to the screen, you can see the little squares separating that 'e' into black pixels on their own, by themselves, separated into tiny cells of a computer screen. Then, I realize that this might not be good for my eyes, my eyes are throbbing, purple lights are dancing in front of me, and I lean back and look back at the yellow tablecloth under the textbooks and under the pencils, looking just as pixellated with the threads weaving to and fro to form that fabric that lies atop the table.
And then I sigh, and I close the laptop, and turn to good ol' ink and page, read and turn, open and close.