Three hours ago, I wrote a blog entry in my head.
In it, I revisited my first published essay, “The Virtues of Pain”. I rewrote the essay and titled it, “The Politics of Pain”. I don’t recall the first one word-for-word as I wrote it 45 years ago. The one I composed this morning seemed bloody brilliant.
But then I had only had three hours of sleep.
I finally drifted back to something resembling unconsciousness at about 6:00 a.m. The alarm sounded from my cell phone at 7. The hour of sleep did nothing for my disposition but managed to vaporize the blog entry that I had composed in the dark of the bedroom, while trying to recall why I weaned myself from prescription painkillers two years ago.
But here I am: awake, cheerful, coffee at my side. It’s Christmas Eve. The furnace hums; the dog occasionally sighs but otherwise rests comfortably on her bed under the window. In an hour or so, the prodigal son and I will help deliver Meals on Wheels and then have lunch with my stepson. Today is the first of four days of celebration. How can I not be joyful?
Seven days left in the twenty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.