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.