Peace in Our Time

So sure, there’s always gonna be someone rattling his saber (nuclear or otherwise) in its sheath, always someone stealing an election (or claiming his opponent did so), always a pandemic and a flood and a drought and a high-profile divorce. If we weren’t greeting by this sdaily chorus of discontent, how would we recognize the world we’re living in?

And I’m not getting any younger. I’ve resolved to stop getting my hair cut, fur every time I do, more gray falls to the floor, and there’s still so much to do to day. I understand the proportional math that dictates that days grow relatively shorter the more of them I live. Perhaps the only math I understand, it nevertheless bears down upon me with an unrelenting sureness of step that haunts me a little bit. Troubled by the ghost of the hours, perhaps.

And then there’s the clutter, which I wish only spoiled the surfaces in my rooms, but sadly, this paper-strewn chaos surely reflects something messier in the mind that made it. To say nothing about the stuff in storage, squatting stolidly in some dark room waiting for me to ignore it again, month after month while I still pay that bill. “Not to mention an attic that’s already full of useless guilt.

Leave a Reply