A Start of Something?

My name is Richard Mutt and I am not yet fifty though I have made substantive progress in attaining that age by believing in good, in right, in love and beauty. As I get older things pivotal to the enjoyment of the remainder of my days oscillate, my weight, my desires, my kindnesses and commitments all in disordered dimensions parallel to the scales of intent and resignation which weigh my contentment. So does purpose for instance and today I cannot get up. The sky today, a winter dawn, somewhere around eight is intense, a cloud low dark long moves from left to right across my bedroom window, a snake in my eye. Framed with dark red curtains foreboding pink high cloud is eclipsed by rapidly moving wisps of black. The sixteen thousand four hundred and thirty seventh day of my life begins. The cheeky boy with the handsome smile is alone beside his wife, she snores softly, somewhere front or back the cat calls to be let in from the night. Today looms large. I stretch myself, feel the sore muscles of my inactive body go as far as they safely will. Right handed my right shoulder and neck are, together with a spot just above my right hip the most unforgiving. They reflect the tension I display, picking, typing, bowing, touching. I don't relax into these things and even when conscious of my rigidity I find it impossible to become physically at peace.It's almost Christmas too, green and red, gaudy and cheap adorns my world for a few weeks. Both my wife and my mistress love this time. Once I chose my mistress because I thought her and my wife so unalike. Now they are as binary stars orbiting each other and I am their invisible centre of gravity, binding them, tracing the groove in time through which they pass, holding it all together. They shop, I shop, my women I cannot stop. It's quite a blissful place really. Quietly and serenely enabling their consumption. I wonder how many people hope that I have gone from their lives and will never return?