Under the Gaze of the Burning Sun
I did not want to go to the gym today, or to the seminar, or market a product, or visit someone in that faraway place. I just did not want to. It seemed to be much too much.
There was light rain. My bed had spanking new, clean, crisp white sheets. I was in the middle, curled up, roused by the idea of just staying there, and not moving. In my mind, it had the makings of a perfect day.
It was a Monday.
A doubt clouded my brow, I know that lethargy will come, and that if I do not get off that bed, I would miss seeing the day reflected in the eyes of the people who I would meet, new friends and old friends, miss what they have to say, miss what I would have learned from what they had to say, miss an idea or doing a good deed, putting in an investment, a day laid in waste when I could have flexed that muscle and got a few calories off, miss writing about what I have learned and expanding a thought that would form words that would form ideas that would form a story that I could live in – again – for a moment.
I rouse myself, get out of bed and go out. Out. The idea of missing life terrifies me.