There is a party in the 'hood tonight. If I knew where, exactly, it would be over because I would call the cops on them. I would steal their drunken revelry faster than the Grinch stole Christmas.
They are carousing in a backyard nearby. It sounds as if they are in bed with us, they and a million bottles of booze. Booze seems to make people deaf. They are all shouting. This apparently strikes them funny. I don't know what could be hysterically funny at 4:30 a.m., but obviously I'm not in the loop. Or looped. My sense of humor, such as it is, went to bed hours ago and left me here, sleepless in San Francisco.
I've considered shouting out my window for them to SHUT UP-SHUTTHEFUCKUP. But they wouldn't hear me. Or care. I am normally a peaceful person. A real rose smeller. I have even marched for peace back in the day. I have smelled a lot of roses. But now I contemplate lobbing hand grenades at people I don't know.
Just like war.
I am impressed that I have this in me. And I do. I am filled with blind hatred for these people I have never met because they deprive me of sleep. It is not possible to co-exist with them. They need to die because it's them or me.
I have become the thing I hate most. Intolerant. But at least I'm quiet. And I'm all out of hand grenades.
Maybe a nice bottle launcher.
It's the Winter Solstice. The sun is farthest south of the equator, making it the shortest day of the year, although it feels pretty long to me right now. The Summer Solstice, when the sun is farthest north, occurs on June 24th, which happens to be my birthday, a thought that normally fills me with delight. But right now, I am at my greatest distance from a good night's sleep.
And I'm not feeling the love tonight.
