On a Monday night, I cannot sleep.
As I rise from my bed, I recall the unseasonable warmth outside
and my lack of a window.
Before responsibility when everything was an ideal and an adventure, I would have taken this evening to walk.
Now, when I walk alone at night, people believe I am homeless. Perhaps they are right. I thought that I would like the city with it's ability to live at night, but there's really no life around me. Everything closes by eight. Is this the modern America? Asleep by nine and awake at dawn? How discouraging.
Internally, I am jaded. Between all of the musts I haven't found much to want. And it's getting hard to remember why I must. My want is to lay down and sleep until the world washes away and is reborn. Perhaps someone can find me in my time cocoon and have a gleeful time with a stick. That's what I would do if I found a person in a cocoon.