On/off/on

I awoke with a stop. Or a start. I'm not sure which it was, but I do know that it was abrupt. Some startling sound had ripped me from a dream. I had been a miner in the caves of New Mexico, endlessly returning to a fabled gold mine day after day, only to become old and decrepit and worn, made destitute by the riches-hungry fever that had stolen the years. I understand the message, of course, that lusting after wealth will only leave you dissatisfied and empty, searching for more.

But that sound - it was a blinking, aching, maddeningly repetitive alarm. That cursed clock is always rounding me up from my restful wanderlust. The cattle to the corral! This morning was not unlike the others, and I went through my morning ritual with a complete lack of sincerity. The AM stupor lingered on through the same highway traversal, the lack of beauty in the streetside scenery, and my engine's strained speed-limit performance. Drive 20 miles. Turn south. First left past the white rock. Circular driveway. Right there in the middle.