Security blanket

I'm so comfortable right now, and I don't want the feeling to end.

I'm pushing away the nagging of an impending Monday morning; I haven't let go of Al Jazeera English yet, but I'm trying to relegate only the periphery of my left eye and my left ear to scan bites for major developments. Most of it, I've seen before.

I'm so warm; it's so soft; I don't want to leave this place or position.

I pull the fleece under my arm to hug my left side; to make me feel something soft; to remind me what tenderness and innocence feel like.

I've forgotten what they feel like. I've been fogged by farce and skepticism and cynicism, and I'm enraged and have temper. I do my best to keep the heat inside, and breeze on the facade. I am always ruffled though.

The fleece keeps the heat on the inside.

Right now, in my comfort, I'm calmed. I long for being calm. I long for being able to slide my finger across emotions, catching slivers in the etchings. My fingers don't sense anymore, unless forced to focus and feel.

The fleece helps me feel...even as I phase out. Even my fingers are feeling--the outsides of one set softly stroke the insides of the other, and all of my sensors rush to and pulse there...sakhsakht. I don't care that my sleep will be rudely disrupted by the Monday morning; I don't care about Al Jazeera and all of the world's ills; I certainly don't give a shit about the Superbowl or that the Packers won; screw it all and leave me alone.

Leave me to the comfort of my fleece blanket; leave me comfortable and secure.