Thursday, September 04, 2014

My Lullaby

Laptop a-lap, sitting unglamorously in my Gap pyjama bottoms and sweating on the chestnut-colored suede couch in our humid living room while Angela and Vito sleep, and well after the time I might otherwise logically retire so that I can wake up and be ready to face another day of composition instruction and collegial repartee, something impels me to put pen to pixel or whatever. Is that tonight's curry dinner still lingering? Will my lower back still feel tight tomorrow morning? Shouldn't I be reading one of those unread e-mails from the various personalities at my son's school?

Clearly uninspired, the minutes trickle forth to the tune of a plastic Ikea clock in the kitchen and an electrical serenade featuring the refrigerator and masking the subtle rumble of air-conditioning from somewhere deep in the apartment building. Periodically, a car hushes along the unnamed street outside the compound. Here in this dark room only brightened by the screen in front of me, some kind of e-moonbeam lights my way.