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Friday Night in a Restaurant in the Year of Death
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Friday Night in a Restaurant in the Year of Death Friday night. The bar is busy after a long week of varying degrees of stress. A small table for two sits in the corner I drop my books on the table Away from the din of the bar The weak, Carry a heavy weight of......honesty? There's no point in looking Twenty three years may be a sticking point Short lived bothers Annoyances? Like a mosquito buzzing in your ear Or a dog Up the street That won't quit barking. Short lived, though they are [Mercifully short lived) Unlike the bothers of today. Chronic Repeating. Incessant Scattered words in the book on the table Can't defeat the bothers, the annoyances, the itch I can't reach Will I be able to sleep? Do you think you will survive? This year of death? How do you control a rambunctious Without crushing his spirit? I see women Women I've seen on dating sites Dining with men They've met on dating sites? I see them again and again. Must be it worked for them. Shadow leaves the<b> library </font></b>I think about going home. There's no solace in my head. Just the bothers. The veggie burger, like the soup and salad, is gone. There's no satisfaction in a finished meal. Just an empty, dirty plate and a full stomach. I don't want to go home. Not yet. I want dessert, I don't need dessert. Will I refuse it, or will I just not order it? Meditation? Control the brain. Tame the bothers. Discipline Self discipline Moments Of success Temporary Before fading back to old habits Perfected over fifty eight years of practice. It's time to go home To the at first cold, then later warm, bed. Sleep with the realization of that which is inevitable How many bullets can a person dodge in a lifetime? It's going to be cold outside And I left my coat in my car. The check arrives. My water is filled. I stay for a while longer. A kitchen worker stops at the table across the aisle. They speak, I can't hear what they say. She, the kitchen worker never speaks to me. Never acknowledges me. Not once. The servers smile and exchange perfunctory pleasantries. Business. They are the same age as my . They've had more friends die than I have. Many died this year. The year of death. I can't allow my brain to scurry down that rat hole. I have to brave the cold. It's time to go home. |
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Too many people I know have died this year. Many of them way too young. And now, with the stress of the approaching holidays, my mood turns dark. I'm hoping that writing will wring some of the darkness out of me. Tomorrow starts National Novel Writing Month, focusing on this year's project should help keep me out of my own problems and on the problems of the fictional character who's going to guide me through her life.
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