4:31 AM (monologue)

   4:31…too early…no, too late…. so tired, can’t sleep…. nothing but hard……..think of something else…nothing but time to burn in my mind…..I’m walking down the street….flowers…..go to a market….there she is…. a woman …….glances at me…….tingling smiles…..no, no, don’t bother……just a surefire way to fill time….there must be something else to do with this time……some other feeling, less often felt, to feel…..there must be……..did they understand…..can’t go back……my sad companion……….start tomorrow right….no regrets…..oatmeal….again ……fruit…….. always good ……start that project…..or fit that one between those two others……that’s better……..then when the break comes I’ll have really earned it………and then I’ll be almost halfway done……… scheduling away another day………another day well-spent…… to earn that sigh of relief……that relieves nothing but pent-up annoyance …….nothing like true purging…….that can’t be hoped for……….. they didn’t understand …………… or care……..they had their own tragedies…………walking down a street …………there she is……………noticing me………………no, please, just stop, don’t you ever get tired of this stupid game…………there must be some other feelings to feel………felt less often………..my brother……….there was love………..something like understanding………at least for a while……….between tragedies………..did they understand…………what’s to understand………….nothing………..together……….it only seems worth celebrating when it’s unavailable………wife and son……….we celebrate……….because we can………..but what do we celebrate……….that our tragedy has not yet come………my parents and I never had understanding …………..and now they’re gone and we never will…………..and my son will walk away from my grave feeling depths that never occur to him now…………it’s natural………slim consolation……..consolation……….souls together……there’s an oxymoron………best we can do is put our bodies together………best wife in the world…………standing there………..looking at me………..no, don’t even………..there must be some other feelings to feel………….what can I make……….will anyone ever see what I create……….do I care………work is real…………..but that’s just the good I produce when on a treadmill………what do I produce freely……of course, all my choices are free………but what can I purely, truly create………things to hear, see and read, to go unheard, unseen and unread, or worse….I respect those who like what I make as little as those who dislike it……..silly people with blown-up ideas about themselves and creations……..and creation………who can get overly wound up in this absurdity ………me, that’s who…….piling little creations about myself………born in a hole, spend a life burying myself in it……..who can stand this……….what’s so difficult to understand ………..humans are so infatuated with themselves……… and with understanding …………inventing meaning to suit their needs, and then marveling at their ‘discovery’………just let me hold my wife….some feelings are so good they require no meaning………..of course they acquire meaning……….humans can’t help themselves……..if she were awake now, I’d……..no, just stop, bear the damn unbearable time and feel something else for a moment if you possibly can……….I can see their faces……..did they really look like that…….they did understand………it was me who didn’t understand……….but I was just a child……….but not too young to hurt others………..or myself…………those kids at work………right in the middle………still have a chance………….but they’re too young to know……….they laugh at me……I cry for them………my son……….oh god, my son, the tortures he’ll have to bear…….the idiotic impulses he’ll succumb to……….the regret he’ll feel……wondering if I understood……….falling in love………oh god I hope he does…….but if life is so unbearable with love, could it be any worse without it…….he’ll just dwell on that set of things, like I do on these………or not……maybe he’ll sleep through the night…………maybe he’ll fall in love……….with a beautiful girl………who’ll look at him and smile……..oh god, please smile on my poor son…….and wink……….and hold him……….and say those things………oh please, stop, can’t you think about anything else………..give it a rest…………oh, dear god in heaven, 4:32………..

 

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