The second part is more strange than the first. Football on the tv and a quick switch of some parts on the car or truck or whatever it is we choose to call it. It sits a little higher than one would expect, but it’s definitely smaller than one might suspect. It’s cold, but not dangerously. Just enough chill to put a bitter wind down the spine, or up from the bottom of an untucked shirt. Cold enough to turn hands into slow moving objects. The slow that prevents thumbs from moving when the mind says “go”. There are books on the shelf and that’s no dramatic segue. It’s just an observation from the vantage point. A giant painting and a feisty dog and a brand new blanket. Candy bars for dinner and a reminder to fill up the coffee maker. Tomorrow makes five and the following six. Go seven and then eight and nine and ten. Lose track. Go back. Rhyme time. Prime time. Analogous. Analysis. Paralysis. Stuck here in this chair or on this bed and plagued by this unending head. No pillow big enough for the mazes and corridors that wind their way through the present and the past. Make it last. Make it fast. Fast. Fest. Rest. Under. Over. All the way around. Come back to the beginning and secure yourself a spot in line. Wait there for the bouncer or the door man or the ticket taker. Wait there for the undertaker and the grim reaper. Wait there. Just wait there and eventually your time will come.