Existential Blogging

I watched the dust particles float down the shaft of sunlight filtering through the window, till they rested on my crumpled comforter. The morning was bright and considerably warmer than it had been for the past week. I walked to the front door, expecting to find a paper on the mat. The headline read something about a political scandal in parliament, internal trading and such. A member of parliament was accused of sending information to a Russian informant for a hefty sum of money. I shrugged. What ever you have to do to get ahead, I suppose.
I thought about breakfast, but all I could find in the kitchen was four eggs in the refrigerator and half a bottle of brandy. Rather, I made a breakfast of cigarettes on the balcony. The breeze was warm, and some pedestrians who had planned on a chill morning shed their coats as they bustled about the pavement. I recognized one such pedestrian as the gentleman who lived in the flat above mine. His wife trailed in his wake, wagging her finger and making all sorts of wild gestures. It seemed a little early in the morning for a nagging but it sure was interesting to watch. Possibly she found out about his gambling habits. Once, the old man had invited me to a poker game at this flat, said that many of the other gentlemen in the apartment complex were joining him and there would plenty of whiskey for the late evening. I told him I would come, but when the time rolled around for the game, it seemed pointless to leave my apartment. I ended up retiring to bed early that night.
I heard the phone ringing from back inside, and I went to retrieve it. It was Isabella, one of the ladies from work, who I would often flirt with when I was bored. Clearly, from her phone call, she thought we were in a more committed relationship, and scolded me for how I had been eyeing the temporary secretary the day before. I liked the temporary secretary. Her eyes were a curious shade of green glass and she smelled of hazelnuts. I told Isabella that I didn't understand her frustration and she started to cry. I didn't understand that either. She told me I was a wicked man, and that I'd ought to be ashamed at myself. I didn't feel either of those emotions, even when she hung up on me. I didn't really feel anything.