Seven Days a Weak
(pun intended)
As I embark on another night of a self-inflicted endurance test, better known as my paper route, I fall victim to the threshold of monotony, and start to lose touch with the world around me. The dark night swallows the security and reassurance of knowing what’s out there beyond the bright high-beams of my car, which only reveal a small fraction of what really is. Every turn, opens a new wave of possible abnormal happenings the daytime dwellers would never experience or understand. The noticeably high abundance of opossums, owls and other nocturnal creatures catches me off guard, but it’s the number of strung out, roaming zombies and patrolling, uniformed zombie-catchers that really overwhelms me. The conflicting sensations of the harsh, cold winter breeze and the stuffy, artificial heat on my face bring me to an uncomfortable state of nausea. My left arm grows weaker with every throw as I hurl the papers to the unappreciative subscribers, who insist I place their product in their desired locations. Fatigue has overpowered me, as I trudge through the deepest hours of the night, trying to make the six o’clock deadline. All of the bleak elements of the winter night take a toll on my already weary body, but I push on. As I approach the boondocks of my route, the city lights and patrolling officers are no longer a variable in my equation. All of a sudden, a new outlook has embodied me. I embrace a sense of peace and serenity when I look up to every star in the sky, shining individually, harmonizing a broad scene God has set before me; and even though any spectator in the surrounding area can see what I see, I can’t help but feel it’s all for me.