Friday the Sun Rose Over the Atlantic

I woke up naked in a pile of cookie crumbs and wondered why I didn’t have a headache. I actually felt pretty good. Today, as every day in America, the sun rose over the Atlantic and it would set over the Pacific. I’ve seen both. I prefer an Atlantic sunrise. In my mind, the sunset is better viewed from the top of a mountain. That’s where it looks the best.

I skipped breakfast and sat down to work on Anthony’s birthday card. Bits and pieces have been tumbling around in my head for a few months and it seemed like the right day to start on it. I never told him that the day I read his post about not waiting for the sunrise was the day I realized I’d always have tender protective feelings for him.

I am standing in the desert and I realized two things.

I should not be there. Everything I have ever been taught by people with more education or life experience or money tells me that I should not be standing drunk and alone in a desert as the sunrises on a Friday morning. I should be sleeping or getting ready for work. I should have finished school. I should be making a family. And I am doing none of it. Amongst my friends there is always talk of anarchy and practical application of it and blahblahblah. For those twenty minutes this morning I was doing it. I was alive. I was experiencing “space” in a new way.

I am impatient. I stood there, alive, and between my breaths all I could think was that the sun was taking too long. I had things to do, or beds to crawl into, or something else. Nothing important, nothing meaningful, nothing as beautiful or exciting as what I was doing.

I didn’t want it to end, but I couldn’t wait for it to be finished.

I am not happy with what I’ve written for him. I’m not a writer. I don’t know what I am. I’m OK with that. I have a few more weeks to get his card right. I hope I can.