Sunday, January 29, 2017
Out of Whack
Again, I am up with the cat. Three hours before sunrise, and here I am in the dark, wide awake. When the rest of the world gets up, I'll be a zombie, dragging my heavy feet off to work. Where does this pulsing energy come from? Why won't it let me sleep? And what am I to do with it? I guess I could water the plants, mop the floor, clean out the toilet and the cat box. Then I would have less to do when the sun comes up and sends me rocketing into a cloud of fatigue. Maybe the ugliness of age has invaded my rhythms. It certainly has triggered hair to grow out of my nose and ears. Hairy man, awake, sagging, on some precipice of decline, I stroke the cat. She purrs.