Fait accomplis

My favourite hours of the day, and they are all of them taken up by things I don’t particularly enjoy. I do not measure my self-worth in clicks, but I am encouraged to.

I get through this by imagining what I’ll do after work, even though I’ll be too tired to do much of anything, and know this already, even as I’m inventing my after-hours liberation.

It’s relentless, but the mind lets you down gently by sweeping away these filaments each night as you sleep.

I know it’s really fruit that I’m craving, but psychological deprivation demands a stronger fix than apples, or peaches, or even cherries. Incarcerate my will but my palate is born away on a cloud of spun sugar.

In my mind’s eye, I watch the final word appear on the final page, the last leaf fall from autumn’s unclenched fist, and this is why I do nothing. Imagination leaves the cage door open, and in this way creates a prison stronger than any earthly material.