Ritual

The sky looks like brushed stainless steel this morning. I can' tell you why I'm up at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, but it might have something to do with Evy crawling all over my head, looking for some one to feed him. Since I'm the only someone here, it's my job. He's napping now, having eaten, and I'm typing.

He was tall, about six foot four. I called him Slim because he hated it. On more than one occasion he tried to swat me but his clumsiness was legendary and when you taunt a giant you'd better be ready to run.

Since I was a teenager I've been an early riser. I need time in the morning for the process of rummaging through the hazy and retreating images of my dreams. There are moments, sitting with a coffee in my hand, where I'm not sure which reality I belong to. I wonder if I'm waking up or falling asleep. I know a few people who catapult out of bed, the panic and the confusion blocking their attempts to think coherently, late for something and cursing the day from its beginning. I've done it once or twice myself, but the mayhem is bad for my constitution so I try to avoid it. The morning is thinking time. Well, trying to think time, I guess.

Two hundred of them stood, their packs at their feet and they swore secrecy and vowed to die before giving up their names. They roamed far and wide and spread fear by their aspect alone. They were honored, out of fear, as heroes although their acts were anything but courageous and when they met each other on the road they would stop to brag about their doings and drink late into the night.

Writing is a must. The mechanics of it force the perspectives into order and the linear nature of it embodies a propulsive force. From here to there. The beginning comes before the end and, in my mind, order is necessary to preserve sanity. Coffee is necessary to preserve wakefulness, my addiction to which is as effective as the cat for getting me out of bed. By pushing my fingers into action and my mind into motion I can focus and the day continues from there without further prodding.

The alley smelled bad and I wondered how long I'd have to wait. What was she doing? My mind wandered for a bit but was snapped back when the light went on. I stood to the side so she wouldn't see me but that blocked my view of the rest of the room. She was alone. That was good. It broke my heart when she brought someone home and if she did I would only watch for a little while, the heavy feelings in my chest finally pushing me out of the alley and home to nothing, home to sit motionless while I imagined the passion and the cries. The light went out and I knew she was undressing for bed; she was too modest to do it with the light on, and when I could sense no more movement in the room I left happy, for now, that she was home, safe and warm in her own bed.

Alright. Now that the freeform aspect of the weblog is done I can move on to some of the other projects. First I'll warm up the coffee, though. I could never adapt myself to drink the stuff cold, even if you give it a name and sell by the vat it's still just cold coffee. Evy has been staring at me for the last couple of minutes wondering how I can sit here wiggling my fingers for hours on end. Or maybe he's wondering if today is the day he'll make his bid for freedom and be done with me for good. More likely, he's wondering if it's worth the trouble to get up off his ass and wander to the kitchen for breakfast part two.

She lay back on me and sighed, deep and trusting. I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes. I wished we were going home today but we had decided to stay. She wanted to spend one more day on the beach and I can't say no to her. I tried to look into the future but it was cloudy and as I fell asleep the sound of the ocean blended with the beating of her heart and I felt helpless. I don't want to be alone.