Waiting

Oh, god, it is still a thousand degrees here. I am waiting for the haunting air, that breakthrough of cooler weather from the north. Then we shall be released from the grips of this madness into the grasp of that haunting melancholy, of the long shadows and the early darkness. We need the shorter days, of course, though I know many would disagree. But we must have the closeness of it where everything seems pressed against us in the dim light, when people huddle for warmth of every kind, when vision's supremacy gives way to the other senses, when knowing is overtaken by instinct.

I am weighted this morning by things that are overdue. I am lazy as a child about responsibilities, and as eager as a child to play. Give me the taxes to do and my mind will wander. Even with enough money, I do not pay my bills. I am lost in house maintenance. Everything is repaired too late. My car needs replacing and my office is a wreck. But I have stories to read and a million dollars worth of cameras calling me. The yards need weeding and the driveways must be mulched, but I would rather sit all day in a cafe or coffee shop watching the world whirl by. Work is the devil's deal and it steals our lives. My life, anyway. The wealthy, of course, think it makes us robust and tell us they are happy to work, but their work is self-serving and at some point mostly voluntary.

But I must go now and prepare for the day. Adam's Curse. Revisited.