The Weight of Sleep

My eyes are heavy and filled with clouds – filled with tears – not tears of sorrow or tears of joy, but tears none the less. This song is floating in my mind as I lay my head heavy to rest – filled with all its contents – content in feeling peace overcome me at last.

For some odd reason, as I sleep, the song continues in my mind. I dream of fools and of the gold for which they long, hoping it is me who holds the magic key to open a treasure chest filled with joys and wonders. The fools plan only to keep it all for themselves; their grand and secret scheme is to live a life of adventure and joy and leave me to suffer and to die alone.

After dreams of people long known to me, some who have forsaken me and others whom I have left behind, I yearn to escape. Some faces speak of the perceived contempt I feel they have always held deep – hidden out of sight from me. Others speak to me of longing for my warmth and light, my laughter and my smile.

This is My Job

Like many, I spend most of my time at the office. As a writer, my time is allocated to the desk where I practice my typing skills. Sitting before a computer screen all day has its advantages; like driving, however, one has to be attuned to scenery to enjoy it for long periods of time. My computer whirs quietly like the constant hum of the wheels on the pavement. Chatter down the aisle replaces the activity of city traffic. The cleaning crew blows past like 18 wheelers stirring everything in their wake…chairs, trash cans, people, dust. Aside from my fingers, I can remain motionless for hours at a time as I constantly glance over the peaks and valleys of sans serif. Though the text may always be black and white here at the office, color arises through the words themselves.