Slow start

Last evening after having re-watched several riveting episodes of the House of Cards (Francis and Claire Underwood) on Netflix I worked at my computer. Writing continues for me to be a mandatory daily deliverance, one which I combine with Modern Era music by Roberto Cacciapaglia from Milan, Italy. Possibly because I hadn’t pulled down the cover of my laptop computer until after one o’clock this morning, I was overcome all morning by an uncommon and profound lethargy. I felt utterly inert, as though I were ordained to inexorable exhaustion. It actually felt good to be so uncompromisingly overwhelmed. Indeed if it were not for my native impatience (or perhaps more charitably my constant yearning for activity and performance) I would still be lingering beneath the sheets, staring at the ceiling fan, pondering the wallpaper, wondering whether I was slowly dropping off or just on the verge of closing my eyes once again to contemplate an eternity of abstraction and disparate remove.

I did however eventually regain a measure of pluck sufficient to confront another day, a Monday morning (at least for the next half hour), the start of a new week before the passage of which at midnight I had no hangover of any description, no stinging memory of having gratuitously (and maybe foolishly or ungenerously) extended some thoughtless barb directed at an unsuspecting target. There is so much to reconsider, so much to put into place, to stabilize and to organize. So many possible perversions of that ideal exhibition of complacency and application, like reading a leather bound book or Kindle. Will I ever disentangle myself from the strength of anxiety and composure; that desire to preserve a living but unperturbed connection with others?

Like an adagio my morning slowly unfolded, all the usual routines observed and accomplished. There was still time enough to recapture those lost early morning hours, those fleeting moments between the shaded colours and the brilliance of sun high in the sky approaching noon. My cadence of routine reconfigured. Mysteriously all the elements of taste and consistency were heightened by the extension of time this morning. Perhaps it was no more stunning or less vicarious than a vulgar appetite. The brilliance of awakening was delayed but nonetheless bountiful. The background of hardened white coral, interminably blue sky and balmy sea air completed the picture of unfolding perfection for another day!