Poem: Sleeping in my Bedroom at Last

 Just finished eating a salad - injected 12 units, which bled a lot - while watching a silly movie with Dinah Shore called THE PUNKIN PATCH.

Here she is with Burt Reynolds. Both gone from view but not forgotten.

What an important day for me. Spoke to folks from my credit union who moved my millions into the correct account so I could pay my bills.

And guess who was here this morning.

The one and only Bob Walmsley.

We each wore masks when he came thru the front door.

He's a big guy with a friendly grin.

He looked at the PECO meter to see if it had been put back properly.

He thought so but will call PECO anyway.

Then we went up in my bedroom.

This is the first time, I said, I've slept in here since my house was overrun with winged ants and termites.

With my powerful Dust-Vac I had removed many ants on the window sill to the extreme left.

Bob suggested I open a window.

"You have to live, too," he said.

A nice breeze is coming in, now.

Walked around the block early this morning before it started to rain.

Watched one great program on Channel 12, PBS.

When artist Maleonn realizes that his father is suffering from Alzheimer's disease, he creates "Papa's Time Machine," a magical, autobiographical stage performance featuring life-size mechanical puppets.

TWAS BRILLIANT !!!

The late Ron Abrams loved puppets. 

So, I lay on two pillows, and watched, transfixed.

Yom Kippur was over. I celebrate due to tradition. 

As I told Sarah Lynn over the phone, I still can't make up my mind if there's a God or not.

I had the most powerful tool in the world in my hand: The Remote Control.

And I slept. For awhile anyway.

Then I awoke and began reading REVENGE, by the brilliant Japanese writer Yoko Agowa, I think.

The new story made me gasp outloud. 

What the hell are you doing? What is going on.

Ya know what?

I'll finish it when I finish this blog.

A glass of water sat on my marble end table from Gramma Lily.

The water was brimming in a cup that read THE DAILY GRIND. Bought it at the Giant when I could roam freely from the house w/o fear of the coronavirus.

Sarah, Ethan and I are gonna beat it.

And there on my nightstand was a tall radio!

I turned it on and music came through.

Nah, I thought, I can fall asleep in the quiet.

Terrified, I actually did, and woke up at 7:12 am.

Hold on! Gonna look out the front window and see what's happening on the street.

Can't see a thing.

I run downstairs and here comes Mailman Dante.

Thanks, Dante, I say. 

Lousy mail.

SLEEPING IN MY OWN BEDROOM AT LAST

Did Matisse sleep in his own bedroom?

Did Johnny Mathis or Ella Fitzgerald?

Were their rooms built in the middle of a pile of ants?

Formicidae?

Brave I am not, but am forced to be

I shall simply lie there throughout the night

Which is long as a fortnight

And awake to the morning sounds

of birds. 

And now, if you'll excuse me, will read more of Revenge.

Love, RZD.