November 11, 2007

Is there anybody out there?

The bed makes a familiar creak as I roll over and slowly stand up. My knees pop and the accompanying pains shoot through my arthritic right shoulder and knee. I pad to the toilet. I yawn as I do my business. I wash my hands and glance at the clock: 7:03 am. During the week I cannot get awake, on the weekends I wake up early. No point bitching, life goes on. My wife gently snores as I close the door.

I shuffle my way to the kitchen. I throw away the used filter from the coffee pot, the old grounds a sodden heap. The used filter is stained brown. I make some coffee and turn on the computer. I read the online newspaper as the sky lightens outside the living room window. I see the tall decorative grasses are gently swaying in the wind and a bit of frost paints the tips the still-green lawn. Low clouds hint of rain later in the day.

I sip my coffee as I sit at the computer, breaking a hard and fast household rule regarding drinks near the computer. I break this rule every single day. The mouse pad serves as a perfect coaster. I will get away with it until the inevitable spillage shorts the keyboard or worse.

The television is off, the radio silent as I gently click the mouse. Head East plays background music in my brain. There is the irregular click of the keys as I slowly hunt and peck. The sound of warm air being forced through the registers is a faint whisper in the room.

I hit the blogroll, reading most, rarely offering a comment. One of my favorite reads is gone again today. I am entranced by a story at Counts place.

I can feel the tugs of loneliness and depression as they sing their melancholy siren song in my skull. I resist, focusing instead on the words that flow from my fingertips -- live blogging a Sunday morning.

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