Pointless Sentences Here and There

I sit here and wonder that I don't have it so bad. I sit here and talk of flowers one day and birds singing another. I sit here and dream and muse and write my pointless sentences.

I have a home. I live on high ground. We can walk in the streets at night with the dog. I have a job. My son plays a trombone. The sun shines daily on our lives.

Yet I sit here and speak my pointless sentences. Like that one. And the others before it. And the others that will undoubtedly follow.

Don't think less of me for it. I try to let the right hand act while the left hand writes. And even if the words are pointless, perhaps the action is not.

Here: Red Cross
There: Doctors Without Borders

9:31:35 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

Morning Time

You said this morning in amazement something about how I roll out of bed so long after you but still walk out the door first. You said it with a tone of regret that I interpret as a lamentation for lost time -- time that could be spent sleeping just a little while longer.

But consider Tom. I saw him drive into work this morning after I had been sitting at my desk reading my mail, after I was on my 3rd cup of coffee. The sun was peeking over the oaks, and their shadows on the parking lot were shrinking.

The thing of it is, I know where Tom lives, and I know how far he has to drive. And I know how long that drive takes, in spite of the turbo kit on his Bug.

So as Tom came in, 3 cups of coffee after me, I realized that he was up and on the road before either of us. And I realized that neither of us have it so bad.

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based on some scribbled notes from two years ago

8:26:49 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []