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Monday, January 11, 2010

The guest

I didn't invite him in, but he visits everyone, so I knew I could not shut the door. He entered without speaking, picked up a yellow marker and highlighted my lack of focus and gumption. He stole my work, my powers of observation, my interest in the world; I am not sure even now where he left them. He locked me away from the whims, fortunes, and happenings of everyone but myself. He drank all the energy in the house and left the cup unwashed on the counter. He shuffled through my priorities, tossing favorites into the recycle bin with a sniff. I opened a catalog, and my eyes skimmed past the running shoes and world traveling books, dwelling instead upon heated massage pads and memory foam pillows. Days knocked, received no answer, and left unnoticed; I was aware only of increasing dust, new scuffs on the floors. My sole joys were the first three moments upon awakening, motionless and fresh before his dull ache returned to consciousness. Three beats of empty bliss. Then my guest would tap on the wall from the next room to let me know he was up, too, ready for another day.

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