There are certain things that can never be taken away from us…
After a long day of concrete, crowds, subway advertisements, and general nonstop movement, you arrive home, the site of your slumber. Nothing looks quite as inviting as your bed. So you crawl in. You put the sheets over your head. Your eyes, your mouth, and your nose are covered. Your eyes are open, though. You’re still awake, but you aren’t looking at anything. You passively acknowledge what is in front of you. You take a deep breath and surrender.
Joni Mitchell once wrote about the sun pouring in like butterscotch and sticking to all of her senses. The sun is pouring into my living room now, and it is unbelievably invasive. It’s not letting me see or sit comfortably. I’m forced to squint. I can barely see what I am typing, not to mention the television screen.
The meal I made is disgusting…I guess that’s what happens when you try to add vegetables to macaroni and cheese. I’ve failed at being healthy. I guess we fail when we try to do things that are inherently against our nature.
This sun is pouring in like cyanide. I try to fight its strength, but the fight is ultimately futile. I am rendered useless. Soon, the sun will be gone and so will my struggle. I will have won the fight…or lost it.
1 comment:
the tile for this posting should have been "...And the sun poured in like cyanide" for three reasons: a) it's the strongest and most intriguing line in the whole piece. b) It encapsulates well the content of the whole piece, and c) it makes the reference to Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning" more explicit, allowing some readers to get it and smile.
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