I was sleeping in this morning, as I often tend to do on the weekends. Because I really like my sleep. And becuase I was out late last night. I spent six hours in my apartment yesterday doing an extremely thurough spring cleaning job and listening to rain storms drift through the city. In the end, my bed was made and sheets were changed, the rug was vacumed, the frig cleeaned out, my back and feet hurt, and my fingers were pruned with cleaning chemicals and mop water. But now, when I have my socks on, I can slide across the hard wood floors nearly the entire distance of my apartment. Afterwards I went to a friends house warming party, drank keg beer, played pool, talked smack. On the way home I grabbed a drink at a nearby bar because I didn’t feel like going back to my exceptionally clean yet exceptionally lonely apartment.

But I was sleeping in this morning, as I often tend to do on the weekends. And it was really nice because flowing through my open windows along with the fresh, spring air were the dreamy sounds of the chior from the church next door, across the ally, singing. I have no idea what they sang - the only hymn I know is the first two lines of “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore” (I think that’s a hymn). But it sure was pretty, especially in that half-awake-half-asleep dream-like state.

An hour later the church bells started ringing, loudly, and I woke up.