mmmmmccxxxviii

Carefree

It was a serious, top-heavy day.  

I had several tasks I had wanted

to finish.  But I just could not bring

myself to focus on eiteher of them.

While unfocused, I noticed that
my friend of many years, who
had dropped by the night before
to keep me entertained, apparently

had written something on my wall,
next to the northernmost window
that looks out upon the alley next 

to my apartment building.  It appeared

to be written using a black marker.  I 

stared at the writing for a long time from 

where I was perched on the other side 

of the room, unable to make out any

of the words, or even any letters.  Also
thanks to my creative friend, there was an 

anaconda crawling over the banker’s lamp 

that I had found the year previous, and 

had painted and then placed upon my desk, 

which was situated below the window
that now had, mid-way down its frame,
the markings in black that I was

trying to decipher from too far away.  

Another friend calls me.  He had

recently been involved in an
accident whil riding his electric 

bicicyle down Nob Hill one recent evening

after work.  He had fallen asleep while driving 

his bike home.  At some point later, he woke 

in a hospital and was told that he had

broken his clavicle, had fractured a couple

of his ribs and might have a concussion.  He
calls to update me on a doctor visit, mentions 

wanting pizza.  I throw a bag of fruit in a bag, 

run to the corner store, purchase a frozen 

pizza for him and a few snacks for myself,
then drop by his apartment to give him

the fruit and the pizza.  Back home, I 
continue to refuse to walk over to the window 

to read whatever it is that my friend had

scribbled next to it in black marker.  I

think of the ceramic hearts and butterflies
that this friend had glued next to the light

switch in my bathroom a short time after I 

had moved into this place.  I sit watching 

podcasts and news broadcasts about the 

upcoming election (which is tomorrow), in 

various states of anxiety and hope.  Among the 

things I had planned on completing was voting, 

and my ballot lies on the bed beside me. I continue 

to read poetry between between the clips of election 

coverage.  The room gets a bit chilly so I pull a 

blanket from in front of me to wrap around and 

cover my legs. This inability to focus has been a 

pretty consistent thing with me over the past few
months.  I let that thought ring and then echo
a bit in my head.  The room is otherwise silent

but for a lone fan that sits next to the other 
window in my room, which also looks out upon 

the alley next to my apartment building. I manage 

to somehow rid myself of most of the day’s anxiety, 

so that I become lighthearted and calm as the day
approaches its end. I do not know how I was able
to transition from the stressful day into such 

peace, but don’t spend time trying to understand 

it.  My focus remains on the surface of things,
and keeps darting about wildly, and I simply
allow my mind to coast with ease from
one subject, whatever it might be, to another.