Not so wise, I occasionally mouth off. I think I’m always right. Now that I know, I can laugh at the joke that is me and also love it as it so wants to be loved. Please also laugh at me and love me. It’s free.

For sometime my dreams end with my alarm going off in dream only, two, three, four, this particular four forty-five. Close enough, I rise. The impression of her body is still fresh on mine, delicious. I leave her sleeping in darkness, carefully disarming the alarm.

She had started foreplay over the phone in the afternoon, complimenting contact with my cyclist leg, a muscled member. Later her softness fully experienced, brought to joy. Concentrating on her pleasure, I missed the moment of eternal clarity in favor of earthly sensation. Another time. I wake relaxed.

I eat an English muffin because she bought this ridiculously large package and they don’t keep. I read the label. Little fat, but they won’t identify it. How can there be a four percent RDA with zero grams of three kinds of fat? How Zen! Four grams of protein to feed the muscled leg, good for both cycling and sex. I’ll take it. Oatmeal and coffee, too. I am rich.

Remembering probable rain today, I elect late not to bike. Wearing the preppy boat shoes I make the train. Silent steps down a suburban street again. There are no women on any train early Friday mornings except before three day weekends. Women are so much more intelligent. Sigh.

Preferring them, I nevertheless attract a Brazilian cardiovascular researcher commuting daily to the strange city to the south. His beard is mostly white with some gray, though I think he is little older, if at all, than I. We speak of Brazilian poets and Neruda, and with Jobim back to Brazil. He writes the names of Brazilian poets in my journal, speaks of their lives. He says they lead simple lives, but proceeds to discuss their complexity. He is interesting. I will look up his poets.

Jobim wrote The Girl from Ipanema, the song I can’t sing. The verse is okay but the bridge is unsingable by me. I can play it, but not with my voice. I wanted to sing it for you, but it would not be sung. For everything a reason.

Imparting further wisdom, he remarks that he regards his commute as the time he spends riding his bicycle to the train. He regards the time he spends on the train as reading time. Following his train I have no commute. I am only doing enjoyable things and then arriving magically at work.

I am there now. I move with grace and speed. I accomplish much in little time. One of the two women who work here has become simultaneously more beautiful and friendlier to me, a manifestation. I go forward with detached enjoyment and so should you. Go then, with the wisdom of the Sage, my friend. May your journey bring you only joy.