Such is Life

My sleep was interrupted by pronouncements, by two alarm clocks, that the time to arise had come. And so I arose, went to the kitchen, started the coffee, and got dressed. By the time I returned to the kitchen, the coffee had begun to cool and I had exchanged a couple of text messages with another friend who likes to wake early. And then I rushed in to begin writing my blog before the time to go to my IC’s house comes. As I write this, I have only a few minutes before I need to leave to meet her ex-husband there; he will detach shelves full of CDs and will take them to his house. My IC does not need or want the CDs; she is fully satisfied, musically, with online delivery on command. Her ex-husband built the custom shelves, though, and seems to be very happy to have them back. All’s well when such good things happen.  But now, I must go. I’ll continue writing when I return. Or maybe I won’t and will let this day pass without posting to my blog. My readership is tiny, so only a very few might even notice the lack of a post. Such is life.


The CDs and the shelves are gone and I moved two bedside tables from my IC’s former home to their new location in my house. My left arm, now wrapped in a “tennis elbow” brace, prevented me from doing any more; probably, I should not have done what I did, but that’s history now and the pain in my arm is a sharp reminder. I acknowledge that I can be stubbornly stupid at times and should be figurately beat with a rubber hose.


A friend who has only recently finally recognized her innate writing talent shared just a bit with me not long ago, but I’ve seen nothing since. She reads this blog from time to time, so perhaps this little bit of nagging will remind her that we need to get together again to discuss writing, imbibe mood enhancing liquid and non-liquid products, and philosophize about the state of the world. Another friend, an aficionado of white zinfandel, needs to return to finish her bottle and, perhaps, help me understand how to use the telescope she lent me.

When the move is complete and we’re settled, we shall have a party of sorts. Not the loud, raucous party one might think of; the not-so-loud, raucous party that brings out the extrovert in my introverted friends but calms the tendency toward extreme extroversion in the others. Hmm. How will that work? We’ll just have to have a party and see. In the interim, I need periodic injections of conversations, with wine, with each of my friends.

Yesterday, the grandiose bed and bedside tables I sold to friends were picked up and taken to their new home. Photos from the new home revealed that the bed and its companions really belong in their new home; much prettier even than they were here. It’s nice to know they are someplace they will be treated well.

The removal of the bed necessitated the relocation of the Sleep Number box springs and mattress to another room and the removal of an old box springs and mattress. The old mattress set will be picked up on Friday by ReStore. The Sleep Number mattress is now on the guest bed in the guest room. Until the bed from my IC’s house is delivered and set up on Saturday, we’re sleeping in the guest room. Last night was just fine; the same old mattress in a new environment. But even little positives can inject minor stress into an already stress-filled period of time. I look forward to the alleviation of that stress.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

~ Herman Melville ~

Regardless of what I do before I go to bed, sleep cannot be guaranteed. Sometimes I sleep soundly; other times, I sleep barely at all. And I rarely sleep late, which I define as any time after 6:00 a.m. But lately I’ve occasionally slept in; later than 6. I am not comfortable with or happy about that. My time early in the morning is my only totally private, self-renewing time. I need that time. If I had to choose between sleep and that freedom, the choice would be easy. I’ll go with those private times.


This morning, my IC and I discussed my ambivalence about possessions. On one hand, I like art and computers and beds and tables and photos and televisions and refrigerators and on and on as much as anyone else. But I value my freedom even more, I think. Some days, and this is one of them, I feel like I’d be happier and more free if I got rid of everything and lived as simple life as possible. But I’m fooling myself, am I not? Could I get by with no chair that I consider “mine” and no place to which I could retreat? That’s a hard one. I don’t need the chair, though I would miss it immensely. But taking away the place where I can think would be murderous. It would be equivalent to taking away the eyes of a person whose only joy is his eyesight. Or maybe I’m kidding myself again. Maybe I’m a charlatan, a pretender who only thinks he needs his freedom to think.


Even though I had a relatively good night’s sleep last night, I am about to drift off here at my desk. I need to get up and get busy, lest I replicate last night’s slumbers.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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Please talk to me about what I've written. I get lonely when I'm the only one saying anything.

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