Late

Originally Posted Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Morning.  Rising late, knowing the problems that this will create.  Still. . . coffee, the news.  Somehow a pain in the literal neck from sleeping wrong.  How does one sleep wrong?  Is the body completely clueless in sleep?  Stiffness of joints, an overall puffiness, another declaration to drink less alcohol, more water.  The morning is suddenly old and then this--it is time to write.  Clueless as to what might be in mind, discovering there is nothing but the practicality that must be navigated for the next many hours.  Life measured by successes and disappointments, the latter tipping the scales.  No time, really, for the question "who am I" thank god.  Not today.  Deciding to take off the stubbly beard cultivated and worn the past few weeks as a sign or symbol of something internal.  Perhaps.  Not yet ready for definitive decisions.  Reading Raul Castro's complaint about Cuban culture now educated but not enlightened, inconsiderate behaviors like petty criminals dominating daily life, thinking how much worse it is here.  Perhaps the apocalypse approaches after all.  Needs and desires that must be suffocated in order not to risk more disappointment, not to let the scale get too unbalanced.  Avoiding the final decree. 

What if you are not enough for yourself, you wonder?  That would be a terrible tragedy.