We were at the house late last night, build­ing desks and fill­ing dry­wall holes. I decided not to sleep in this morn­ing, because I needed the time to get work done, although I also needed sleep to get it done prop­erly. There are mailouts to com­plete, state­ment stuffers to design, bitmaps to vec­tor­ize, and count­less other things for which I’m respon­si­ble. I con­vinced myself that I’ve (begrudg­ingly) gone through enough tor­tur­ing days of lit­tle sleep for some­one else, so it would be more appro­pri­ate if I did it for myself now.

Stepping out­side, the chill of win­ter morn­ing still in the air against the early light of spring, I skipped nine tracks until Claudio started singing, in his shift­ing, melodic voice:

Bye bye beau­ti­ful
Don’t bother to write

My lethargy turned into energy, as I thought of how things have worked out based on the deci­sions I made. How I could die happy right now, although I’d pre­fer to wait at least two weeks if given the choice.

The way I seem to have every­thing I deserve, and noth­ing that I don’t.