ofREH

So,

I'm here all week. Tip your waitresses.

I have leisure, I have the means to enjoy it. I’ve purpose and direction without need of pressing.
I am blessed. I have gifts richly bestowed, not the least of which is curiosity. I am in much better health than my behavior would dictate or I deserve.
I enjoy the attentions of a very beautiful and intelligent Woman without relying on them.
I command all the conveniences of technology and design that my circumstances allow and look forward to future developments with relish.
The few Friends I have are very dear and ask pitifully little of me.
I do not, though, I noticed recently with some concern…sing aloud anymore.
There was a time, not too distant I recall, but cannot pinpoint, mine was the only voice I heard. Either in accompaniment or spontaneity. While driving, in company or alone, showering (certainly alone), cleaning or in general putz, recital was my constant companion.
Those days, when I sang, the tune was one of singular introspection.
No concern for you or yours, was my chorus and “Someone’s comin up short cuz I’m getting mine”, the refrain. One of many Melody’s, if I even bothered asking, perhaps her name.

Whether related or no, was the noticeable absence of conscience.

Those were days of reckless abandon. Of uncertainty and sans souci. I had little notion of my next meal but even less of who’s feet I might trample to get it. I sang aloud with my mouth full.
As goes the adage of blissful ignorance, one might also associate that of concern. It was that time of song that I was most at ease, hardly burdened with any troubles of my own, much less those of others.
I’ve no particular voice to speak of, none that would draw any crowd. Perhaps that, the key. That I only sang for myself and without the critique of others, could not know I was flat.
I seem to still know all the words but keep them to a barely audible humm.