Write what you know.
What do I know? I thought I knew stuff. I guess there are gray areas, outcomes that I can’t predict, but the sun comes up every morning, doesn’t it? I know I saw it this morning.
Somehow I had slept through the sound of the jets that take off over my house, starting at 7 AM every day. Seven years I’ve been here. Seven in the morning, seven days a week. I rarely sleep past seven. Today I stayed in my dream world until 8:15, and woke disoriented, the sun too high, angles and shadows wrong.
I sat up in bed and the dreams ran off my body like ocean water, trickling and evaporating as I emerged into my dry and sunny bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and think about my dreams for a few seconds, those crazy little shows I stage for myself. There are only those few seconds when I am awake but still can see the visions of sleep. When I am awake, things intrude. They might be things from the real world, but I don’t know. Once disturbed, the images ripple and vanish as if they are painted on the surface of a glassy pool, into which a pebble has fallen.
Molly the Cat is outside the bedroom door, and she is telling me that breakfast is overdue, and all my dreams are gone. Luckily, I don’t have to go to work today.
While the coffee heats I get Molly’s morning meal for her. This is one thing I know: If you delay, Molly the Cat will bite your ankles. Not enough to draw blood or cripple you, but enough so that you don’t forget your duty. I’m a night person, not very efficient first thing in the morning, and so I have a lot of tiny little scars on my ankles, from seven years of bites.
I know that freshly ground Colombian coffee beans make a fine brown drink. I know that autumn follows summer, shadows grow long and we slide into cold days. I know that no digital device will ever sound as good as a Strat plugged straight into an old Fender tube amp, and I mean to prove that a few more times before it’s over.
6 Replies to “Don’t Know Much”
Oh yeah? Okay. Opine. Oboy!
Lovely writing, Larry. A delight to read.
Not much sounds better than an old Fender Twin.
I know fart jokes… guess I need to post more of ’em
Fart jokes? Bring ’em!
Where’d you go, Larry?…
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