Saturday

I begin Saturday morn dancing, waking from a long nap shortly after midnight.I put on my wireless headphones, tuned in my radio and I boogie.Pilates.Still trying to coordinate arms and legs. Need to sleep nights and be awake days so I take extra meds to knock myself out. It was a long nap. I'm up at dawn hoping to walk in Central Park - I went back to sleep at two. Rain--light--but rain. I write.
Later I go for breakfast, the line is queued outside the dining room and there is a bad stench. Some of us residents and nonresidents seem allergic to water. I leave and return later.
It's a lemon zinger of a day. My True Love (MTL)is descended from an old New England family and relatively well off financially. Me, I am the almost homeless guy with a mental unbalance, though I haven't been in an insane asylum in 30 years. But no pity needed. I am quite happy. I never wanted to be anything but a poet and a poet I am. Cobwebs.Perhaps I'm not the beautiful butterfly who escapes but I'm not the dead fly either. Enough. Happiness is having an inside toilet and a shower.I use both.Eat your heart out Henry David Thoreau, wherever you are.