Stare

I realize now that they can see me through my open blinds. All of them, if they choose, can look down into my living room, can observe all my activities. My garage is right across from my condo, part of a line of garages. Above them are two rows of windows, most with blinds drawn.
But they can peek and I would never know. I could stand by my window and look up at them, showing I have nothing to hide. Perhaps a quick glance would catch them unawares. I would mouth no words, but my expression would make it clear I know they are spying.
But if I look up at them, they'll think I'm the one spying. They'll take umbrage, feeling their right to look out their windows is being challenged. My response would be that from my angle I can see virtually nothing, but they can see everything.
What is everything? What exactly do I do in my living room?
I watch TV. Lie on my couch. I paint, relaxing in my recliner. I reorganize books and cds. I talk on the phone. Sometimes I will be at the computer writing intense essays like this and printing them out. I will relocate my coffee table knick knacks. For sure, I am well over the knick knack quota. So what?
I won't be exercising or flexing or touching myself in any way, except to scratch. If I pick my nose, which is very rare, they won't be able to see because my back is to them. However, with binoculars, these beasts can notice my arm moving to my face and extrapolate from that a nose picking event.
Should I shut the blinds like a coward or should I flaunt my ordinariness? One day I am certain I will have a visitor and then these decisions will be complicated. I have decided right now to remove my shirt and display my upper torso for the voyeurs to indulge. Why hoard ripped abs and pulsing pecs? Why indeed.