I'm not feeling deep today. At most, I'd love to just fall into the hole and watch things on the way down, but there's no energy to step on the shovel.
There's rain, lots of it, falling on the really old building that I work in; rain falling around the big trees and the red bricks and into the water-heavy, green grass. There are little waterfalls rumbling off of the roof like a rude crowd.
There's a space of two hours during which I will be here alone, until a meeting -- a meeting that keeps me that much longer from hugs from my sons and wife.
You wouldn't see a lunch-break.
There's something sort of sickening hovering over me that I really can't place -- a feeling of too much of my time being stolen today; the feeling that this theft has taken away the desire to do even those things I enjoy. The day has been spaced just perfectly so that there is no time for the meaningful things in-between the meaningless, insistent responsibilities. Today, there will be work and there will be sleep. Today's face will wind up on the back of a milk-carton.
I want to loaf and invite my soul. I want to lie down, but there is no couch. I want to read, but my heart isn't in it. I want to go out and walk in the rain, but you can't go to a meeting soaked to the bone. Or can you? No, you can't. I should work more, but I have worked myself numb.
And that is reality. Here was a day that broke through the castle walls.
I'll build them up again tomorrow. Don't you worry. You have to make a new battle-plan. If you go to sleep weak, you have to wake up strong. Right? What choice do you have?