I decide how long my day is, not some arbitrary Roman with a penchant for astronomy. I can stay up until (what should be four) whenever I want. As soon as my head hits the pillow, that's when my day ends.
I'm pushing back the clock.
I'm stopping time.
It's still the 25th. It's still the 25th. It's 1:00am, the morning of the 26th. It's the 25th. If I tell myself enough times, I'll remember that it's true. I'll remember telling myself, and forget the moment that I ever decided.
Why are memories so much stronger than decisions? Resolutions are broken every year, and old habits remembered. Old sorrows renewed, new joys postponed. Old days lengthened until geriatric, filling the hospital beds and pushing out the baby days, still embryonic at the small hours of the night - why am I killing the young in favor of the old?
In minutes, I'll sleep, knifing once and for all this 25th day of January, year of our Lord 2009, Earth-time. It won't come back. One more opportunity to make a decision, gone. One more botched day to remember.
Someday, though, I'll make the decision to start making memories with you.
Wait for me.
I added the cheesiness at the end for Janelle and Katy. They'll enjoy it.
ReplyDeleteHOWEVER if you have a Y chromosome, only read until the last paragraph. Don't read the last paragraph. Read everything but the last paragraph.
But seriously, how many people read this crap anyway?
Well, I read (rId-- the phonetic spelling doesn't work here; this is present tense) it. Thanks for the cheese. My roommate and I like cheese. We're pretty sure (don't hate us) that the wonderfulness of cheese is why Star Wars is so popular. Also why people prefer mice to rats (I like some rats, though-- we used to have seven very adorable ones).
ReplyDeleteYour second paragraph is excellent! Oh yes, and the "Earth-time" is great. Memories are stronger than decisions, I think, because they involve our senses.
Aren't I smart, even if I do enjoy a big ball of cheese sometimes? ^-^
I thought about it, and I kinda like writing cheesy romantic crap. It's addicting, even though I don't even get anything for it.
ReplyDeleteHOWEVER I'm afraid that my wife will get tired of it.
But then I remember "Sonnets from the Portuguese" and the song of the Cuckoo or whatever she called it. The point is, Elizabeth Browning was all into hearing "I love you" whenever and however she could get it.
So I'll just walk the line.
Yeah, just resurrect EBB and marry her.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I'd like her, honestly. Well, maybe. Her husband's name WAS Robert, and he WAS classical. Maybe we'd get along fine.
ReplyDeleteHmm... Yeah, she's not exactly my favorite poet ever. So mushy.
ReplyDeleteHer husband was pretty awesome, though. He did some pretty awesome satire. Maybe she just made him laugh.
My dad's name is Robert, and he's awesome. Oh, and Robert Frost. Maybe Roberts are just awesome sometimes.