A warm little head rests on the side of my leg while I type

A warm little head rests on the side of my leg while I type. He’s cranky and upset about something and didn’t want me to touch him, but now he’s sidled up to me–he’s on the floor and I’m on the couch. My cup of coffee is on a shelf about ten feet away, and I don’t want to get up until he gets up. The television is blasting endless advertising for Disney at me. Disney cruises and theme parks and toys and shows. I’ve more or less developed a fine ability to tune most of it out–I can go into work in an open office and tune out all of the pop and hip-hop music the young people like, and all of their chatter, yet still pay enough attention to make a comment to show them I’m paying attention.

The morning doves are cooing again, and this is a present reminder of springtime in Austin. The air is mostly warm and humid, the skies mostly overcast, but sunny days have started appearing a bit more frequently. Somehow, I am connected to all of it in an incredibly meaningful way, but it’s not the way that I thought I was connected. My eyes are weak and straining through my dirty lenses. It’s time for a new pair of contacts and I’m down to my last few pairs, and I don’t really want to go to the eye doctor.

I could just as easily drift back into a nap state if my little boy wasn’t here by my side. My mind keeps wanting to wander about in an imaginary world of so many different times and places, lives lived. I want to walk the earth as a ghost seeing all of human civilization as it groans and seeks to grow and destroy itself at the same time. I want to live in a time beyond time, where the Roman empire and the Assyrian empire and the age of the Mayan civilization flourishing and every other incredible assemblage of humanity taking root on this planet is happening all at the same time, and somehow, we are all moving toward something incredibly important–or, could it be that the sense of moving toward something is incredibly misguided?

In my little pocket of time and space, I have found mostly stability, peace and prosperity, but I don’t count on it as being par or the course for me. At any given second, I might slip out of this particular mortal coil and find myself living in a situation where I have little freedom and no rights, much less indoor plumbing. The roll of the dice that has given me such privilege is one where I don’t necessarily feel as if I am permanently hitched to the identity of white, middle class male. My next go around might very well be one of a persecuted Asian woman sold into human trafficking, or a little Syrian boy dodging missiles and barely surviving cholera. If reincarnation really is a thing, and there is only one world, this one, to be born into, and you can’t be born into a different time other than a generatively progressive one, then you will likely see mostly Indian and Chinese wombs available for your next birth, since white, Western women just aren’t having that many babies, anymore.

All of the above, may very well be bunk, though. Idle speculation isn’t really where I wanted to head today. I should have gone and got my guitar, but I spent the afternoon cleaning house and getting drunk. I don’t really know why. The state of mind that my head gets into when I’ve had a few beers is one of a soft, cozy, easy-going kind of state, and I don’t want to leave it for the real world head state where it seems like these days some part of me is always in pain.

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