For a brief moment I go back to the life I blissfully created and lived for 2.5 months. Here on Labor Day weekend I am once again waking up and writing. Waking up and imagining, waking up and hiding for three hours behind a cup of coffee. It makes me happy that I have not become totally separate from that bliss, totally alien to that habit of non-habit- the only chore a bit of resting. Yes, a day where all of time is measured by either what am I going to eat for lunch, or the afternoon nap. It will only last 3 days, so I hope I can make the most out of it. Like a man on parole from a life sentence. and in that time he wants to taste, smell, hear, see, and touch everything that he will be denied for the whole sentence. Ah the sentence of work, how much does it keep us from what we have to do?
But not forever, for we have these little times. These small times in the middle of the night, when all are asleep and the house is quiet. Perhaps that is why so many write during moonlight.
Then after that whole night has been filled with one satisfying the imagination, there is one prize.
The morning. Within those first moments of opening your eyes, your brain tells you. 'I have nothing to do'
The Bliss of 'The Life'.
