waking up when the sun is not seems to add a layer, or blanket of foul mood on the day, cover that in a covering or a smothering of traffic winding down the GSP, for only two exits mind you, across the outer bridge, through Staten Island, cross the Narrows (for an admission fee of $18 that might even make Jim J. Braddock blush) and finally on to Bay Ridge (literally named so as it is a ridge above the bay) and the parts of Brooklyn past there, a solid hour plus to travel a meager 20 miles, get home after the sun, get up and do it all over again with glee on Tuesday, and tomorrow, the prospect, I came home tonight and collapsed, feeling like the lone survivor of a shipwreck, crashed on my mattress face first, first right into the bed, no pillow in reach, washed up like flotsam on to this shore, carried in the surf, I drift off imagining how these things are supposed to go, the high tide leaving me up the slight slope of beach, the gentle waves lapping at my feet, sand on my face scratch, too tired to care or move, seagulls circling above endlessly like vultures, little crabs scurry in my shadow knowing I am prime picking real estate, and in no state to swat them away like flies, the relief of surviving the wreck is not a wholly fulfilling experience, even if it should be, I wait for the part of the tale where that tropical sun bears down from dawn and lifts up my very soul, recharges my life force with wonderful unbroken sunlight beams, gently warming my skin as the day grows from begin, I imagine, I can hear the waves, the sounds of palms rustling in a soothing Caribbean breeze, the rise and soft crash of the waves, like a massage over my body deposited here on the shore, all care fades away, I feel I could lay here… forever, so I pretend…

my phone is not cruelly right over there, taunting me with the specter of some chosen gimmick alarm sound (just who let those dogs out?), counting the hours down, for soon enough this dream is spent on the morning’s break, dragged into the shower, hopefully my mind will have been away, on a little island holiday and re-energize this engine machine, to face the world with a true genuine smile, until it is worn down again, until I find another device, the recharge period of life, a dream… a dream…

notes.. not for nothing, but why do we always survive shipwrecks on to a desert island, romanticism I suppose… we never dream of waking on a beach of rock and steam… of cold and cliff… the video is what I sleep to, or try to sleep to, most nights…