September 21: Day of Rest

Can one be said to truly be alone

When one is being laid upon by dogs

Until they bark at passers-by unknown

And neighbors out for their respective jogs?

No. Solitude’s the proper name for this,

Now liberated from all obligation,

Except for those I’ve chosen. I don’t miss

The trappings of external expectation,

But bliss and boredom cannot coexist,

And guilt that I relax while others work

Cannot be expeditiously dismissed

Without the niggling fear that I’m a jerk.

I justify indulging selfish wishes

By rolli...