36 and 13

all at once, i feel aged thirty-six and thirteen, leaning for hours over a slightly outdated computer as the few souls in the family home sleep peacefully. look down toward a growing gut, the sum of sitting at a desk or conference table all week long with only salted, packaged foods to consume. look down at the snack of my youth, cheese in tortillas, microwaved to a runny mess, appealing especially now and especially here, gone in a single minute and only four bites. favorite songs streaming through speakers when work is finally finished for the evening (as i've deemed such things) and i digress to conversation via the great and glorious web. another glass of clean water, insides void of substance (take it as you will; no, i haven't had a drink in a while, let's call it "taking it easy"), late night writing: exactly the same.

i sure do miss some ones. clean laundry and all the oversized sweatshirts in the world (the one where it's always a bit too cold and the fans continue to blow) can't keep me warm like the way the ones who have gone did. saving the world, saving us all, saving a few scraps of morality for the future. i'm motivated by their movements, and if i can spread it like butter across this heap of patterns i've recently torn off, the whole of my world will be better for it. resting by my pillow is a crisp copy of the adventures of huckleberry finn. i somehow dodged it back in grade school, and the whole of my world is better for it.