Sleep Forever

Rainy day, and an uninterrupted ten hour block of sweet, sweet, sleep. No messages on the answering machine. None in the computer. Cast a few hellos, and reel back a few empty hooks. Shouldn’t I feel sad? Why do I not, I wonder. I can still swallow the sword of beauty, but the edge that cuts refuses to damage, like it’s been dulled, or dented. It violates my philosophy that one should have the good, while being spared the bad, so I suspect foul play somewhere…or perhaps I’ve just earned it, somehow. No sense being paranoid. I almost regret not starting to work-out decades ago, but the feeling of my body only growing more and more beautiful in my old age, rather than succumbing to the rigors of adulthood, make the regret impossible. I can’t shake this appreciation of having so little (to lose). I’ve always stacked my problems in tiers of priority, but that structure is completely gone. What happened? The road to contentment is much less memorable than the road to ruin, apparently. I think it is ok to dwell on the past as long as one doesn’t feel compelled to question or change it…doing so to the present is hard enough, yet far more possible. Some call me hateful. Some call me devoid of emotion. And yet, I love them all with such a vigorous intensity…that shaping my helpless fondness for them into words they could understand is impossible.