1.
And somehow the butter rolls are the best in the morning with a cup of hot chocolate and a bit of a chill. Sometimes even an arcade game while big burly men talked about lumber and cement or something. They were big and fat and wore beards. I was always invisible and always on the way to somewhere else. In the morning, when the rolls were at their freshest and the world had only just begun to roll itself out into the light.
2.
And I can be very good at this, when things come together, when the traces of the logic begin to appear it gets exciting the way this used to, and it’s quick enough and simple enough in its design that, although the task might seem daunting at first, it’s ultimately done the moment it ever appeared. And what makes it more precious is the fact I’m the only one doing it and although I’ll brag there’s a secret rush and peak of joy that I cannot translate with gloating. And it’s good.
3.
And truly things cannot be better save for the lack of money, wouldn’t it be great to have a couple of bucks more, ok, maybe a couple of thousands. Ok, a million and then it’ll set everything straight.
4.
And The West Wing, while the banter is missing, a very keen sense of tension, drama and cinematography has filled the void Sorkin has left. At first it felt very technical, but as the season has moved forward, its gotten more slick and while I’d like to write emotional, it’s not, but rather empathic, less obvious stresses and just beginning to test the waters about what it’s characters are supposed to raving about.
5.
And although the nights are certainly strange I feel a new change come over me, slow and sure but I’m not sure if it’s for good or bad, another degree of coldness and sterility, and it doesn’t quite feel like that, something else entirely, as if each cell is being slowly replaced, which its supposed to, and where does the soul hang out anyway if not in your cells and isn’t quite entirely possible that every seven days or so, every three years or so, you’re an entirely different person from the cells up, even from the soul up. Shouldn’t you change? Wouldn’t you?
6.
And a baby shower tomorrow. And women and presents and laughter. And possibly children and the hope for. And later men, men and their tales of their wives giving birth to their children. And when it’s all done there’ll be just her and her belly and me, my wonderful life locked away within the heart of this woman who is about to offer our child to the world. And to the world I say, I beg, I plead “Please be kind to this child and all the rest if we’re lucky again, please be kind.”
7.
I still dream of horrible death and anguish. I still run with his death heavy across my eyes.