I’m amazed at those
middle-agers who
bust their humps
all weeks at 2 or 3
jobs (the new
American Dream)
then with a gleeful
glint in their blood-
shot eyes cough up
their much-anticipated
weekend plans. As for
me, I sleep right through
most of mine, only
occasionally rising for
brief breaks to strum
the black dulcimer,
feed the fat cats, and
perform the most
necessary of functions.
There’s nothing quite
like sleeping all night
then snoozing until
6 or 7 pm the next day.
And there’s no satisfaction
that can compare to partially
awaking in the middle of that
bliss to the white noise of the
window air conditioner
humming away to mask any
sounds of humanity beyond
my bedroom window. At those
moments of partial awakening,
a thrill shivers through me to
know that I’ve once again
robbed Life of the opportunity
to break my body or mind with
some new absurd calamity.
And at times like those, I
smile to know that I’ve
robbed the Day of it’s
evil plans to gut my wallet
in quest of some adventure,
as if any waking dream could
be sweeter than sleep.
— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 