Monday, February 6, 2017
Sometimes I wish it would just leave me alone: this crazy urge, yearning, desire, whatever it is. The siren song of sleep grows stronger when I get tired like this. The I, that "I" that is me but not really me, wants to set that burden down, retire, get my ass to nearest couch and put on my potato pants. Beer at the ready, next to the remote, dammit. But here it is, four-thirty, and my perky little friend of a happy beating heart has gotten me up again. Wide awake, in the utter darkness of the wolf hour, I and it and the cat are thrumming with life. I should be grateful. It's what I asked for so many years ago when the prospect of checking out seemed the only option. Might as well take the hand of the beloved and dance the rest of the night away. It's perfect, after all, whether I get that or not.