In My Room

This is where I sleep.  From about six p.m. on, I am waiting.  Some nights, something will attract my attention and keep me up awhile, but normally, I climb into this mess early.  I never have trouble falling asleep.  I drift off easily.  Often now, I have dreams.  I wake up sometimes having dreamed of Ili.  For all our troubles, we always fit perfectly together in the bed.  The emptiness next to me is hollow and cold.  Some nights now, though, I dream of other women I have known.  It is funny, but I never dream of my ex-wife.  I dream of Ili, and I dream of one other most.  They were both beautiful to me, and they are both successful in different ways.  I fucked up one relationship, but that was inevitable.  Ili fucked up the other.  I helped.

But when I wake to pain in the night and my broken bones are throbbing, it is Ili I yearn for.  And when I don't feel right and think I'm dying, it is she I wish would succor me.  And when I have a good idea, it is she I want to bounce it off.  And when all the tragedies of my life are getting me down, I want her to come and fix them.

"In my room," The Beach Boys croon.  I have slept here more years than I have slept anywhere.  This is where I play guitar and sing drunken melodies in the night.  There are many memories and many nightmares.  But this is where I retreat at the end of the day.

In my room.