9. Late Night

A bathroom run. It must be around two in the nightly morning. Just my luck, Pop is also clearing out of the big room, done with television for the night. He asks, “Can’t sleep?” “I just got up.” If I had more wit about me, I would have told him that I am half-asleep even as we speak. He has so much energy. At 71. At two in the morning. I wish I had some of that. I am more my mother’s son in that. He asks if I liked those cinnamon rolls. I told him no. I doubt it surprised him. I very rarely like anything.

10. Morning Walk

I was up early, at a quarter till seven, but I still had a hard time getting ready for my morning walk. As though it were a chore. Like cleaning the toilet. Instead of something that I like to do, something that vitalizes me. It has been a while since my last walk: there was the storm and then the homebound weekend. It doesn’t take much for me to get comfortable and settled at a new level of laziness, to sink to a lower depth and make it my home. I’m always willing to take life easier. Though, I cannot take it much easier without falling into a coma.