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The Habits of the Solitary
習慣性孤獨
My bones have been aching again,as they often do in humid weather.
和平常一樣遇到天氣潮濕，我的骨頭又疼起來了。
They ache like history:things long done with, that still remain as pain.
疼起來就像歷史重演，很久之前就疼過，現在依然很疼。
When the ache is bad enough it keeps me from sleeping.
疼得厲害時，我無法入睡。
Every night I yearn for sleep,I strive for it;
每天晚上我渴望睡覺，努力入睡，
yet it flutters on ahead of me like a curtain.
但疼痛像窗簾一樣在我面前晃動。
There are sleeping pills, of course,but the doctor has warned me against them.
當然我有安眠藥，但醫生警告我不要吃。
Last night, after what seemed hours of damp turmoil,I got up and crept slipperless down the stairs,feeling my way in the faint street light that came through the window.
昨晚，感覺好像是在 潮濕天氣里輾轉反側了好幾個小時后，我起了床，沒有穿拖鞋悄悄下樓，一路上借著透過窗戶照進來的微弱燈光摸索著。
Once safely arrived at the bottom,I walked into the kitchen and looked around in the refrigerator.
安全到了樓下，我走進廚房打開冰箱看了一遍。
There was nothing much I wanted to eat:the remains of a bunch of celery,a blue-tinged heel of bread,a lemon going soft.
沒有什么我想吃的東西:剩下的一捆芹菜，發霉的面包，一個變軟的檸檬。
I've fallen into the habits of the solitary;my meals are snatched and random.
我陷入了習慣性的孤獨中；我吃飯總是胡亂而隨意。
Furtive snacks, furtive treats and picnics.
偷吃零食，偷吃大餐和野餐。
I made do with some peanut butter,scooped directly from the jar with a forefinger:why dirty a spoon?
我直接用食指從罐子里蘸了一些花生醬來吃:為什么要弄臟勺子呢？
Standing there with the jar in one hand and my finger in my mouth,I had the feeling that someone was about to walk into the room—some other woman, the unseen, valid owner—and ask me what in hell I was doing in her kitchen.
站在那兒一手拿著罐子，手指含在嘴里，我感覺有人要進來—是另外某個女人，看不見的，合法的屋主—問我究竟在她的廚房做什么。
I've had it before,the sense that even in the course of my most legitimate and daily actions—peeling a banana, brushing my teeth—I am trespassing.
我以前就有過那種感覺，那感覺就是甚至在做我最合理的日常事情時—剝香蕉，刷牙—都覺得自己正在扇子進入別人的房間。
At night the house was more than ever like a stranger's.
夜里房子就更像是一個陌生人的。
I wandered through the front room,the dining room, the parlour,hand on the wall for balance.
我漫步穿過前屋，餐廳，客廳，手扶著墻以保持平衡。
My various possessions were floating in their own pools of shadow,denying my ownership of them.
我所擁有的各種東西在各自的陰影里飄動，否認我對它們的擁有權。
I looked them over with a burglar's eye,deciding what might be worth the risk of stealing,what on the other hand I would leave behind.
我用入室盜竊的眼光看待它們，決定哪些東西值得去偷，哪些我會留下。
Robbers would take the obvious things—the silver teapot that was my grandmother's,perhaps the hand-painted china. The television set.
盜竊者會拿走明顯的東西—祖母留下的銀茶壺，也許還有手繪的搪瓷以及電視。
Nothing I really want.
可是這里卻沒有我真正想要的東西。
