resetting your wrist(watch).

sunday morning, one minute past mass, or 9:31 (which sounds just a little more reasonable). here we go again, the lucky ones to have brumbled past the black-hole hold of the earth spinning round the sun on its axis, we the ones as the closest fists to the sun. we the ones with closed fists, we who won over by thems run over the unlucky dogs again, who's gonna clean up the mess, who's always got caught by the sludge in the bucket, a lucky moment to remember you love the rain. if it's even only a shower. you who never knows the temperature of this water, but will adjust accordingly, even if it always means fiddling with the knobs. could be jet lag, could be old age.

four days in, and each morning i'm brunching.