The I Don't Want To Zone
The night is still and my home is quiet. My angelic children are in bed and the big dog is asleep on his back, his long legs reaching for the ceiling. The washing machine downstairs keeps time in rhythmic electronic tones which I cannot describe in words, but I’m sure I could mimic vocally. I think my mechanic of 20 years is the most talented in mimicking noises I’ve ever met. My bride sits quietly on the couch writing and reading, of what I’m not sure. My bed is quietly whispering my name and calling me to sleep. I made the mistake of saying out loud, “I don’t really feel like blogging”, to which my focused wife utters, “Maybe you should blog about that”. I laugh, and then think, “You know, you’re right”. It’s not that blogging is a chore, as it most certainly is not; being much more of a release and a pleasure for me, but then, how often do our pleasures become somewhat burdensome at times. It’s ironic how pleasures in life can convert themselves into burdens within our minds, rob...