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There must be some unwritten law that is preordained concerning the wee hours of Monday. Namely, I'm supposed to sleep for shit. That whole late night Sunday burnout thing must have set the stage for this last bout. Fighting the dozing whiplash thing on the futon while the Newcastle vs. Sunderland match droned in the background just solidified the pattern... alert, then comatose. X3. Must have something to do with footballing chants with the sound turned down low. Gapping, guaranteed. Cruelly, the pattern was the same after the lights went out. Dreamtime, then awake. X ?. It was one of those fitful sleeps that was so densely populated with dreams that not one has drifted out of the fog into waking thought. Yet my brain's tired. Of course, the new day's almost done... and the routine of crunching numbers into the Quark program for totally revised templates for the press would grind an express freight to a halt. The things we do for money. Though I've been good at spending it, lately. Finally, the new digital camera is on the way, as are parts for the industrial strength food processor. One for play, one for work. Considering the gardens (plural) have burst with 23 pounds of peppers in the past seven days, heavy artillery is going to be a must... plus, the freezer's maxed out. Drought or no, things are busting... and will 'til the first frost. Which is a way off, but you could have fooled my feet (chilly outside, and they've still got the AC set on "Tundra"). That's the main thing (besides eternal night) that withers me about the upcoming cold months... my toes won't thaw until March. I know, I know... "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Cold comfort. I'm still cracking up on a comment on my style Saturday afternoon. Since I refuse to wear collegiate uniforms at the few social functions that I attend on the campus, my "fashion" has been labelled "the Kramer Collection." Fact is, I've been wearing the consignment store's finest WAY before there was a glimmer in Jerry's imagination. The more out-of-fashion, the better... I never have to worry about keeping on top of the latest trends. I've been mothballing my Hawaiian shirts lately, though... getting too popular for my taste. Contrary bastard, huh? I've decided to ride out this voyage in the doldrums... too much stress, too little Get Back. Screw worrying about the marital abyss... so what if it's been three-going-on-four months since Miss Jane and I engaged in marital bliss? So what if her latest project is to help her daughter move out yet again and muck up her kid's young lives? Big deal if there's Watchtower action in the house on Wednesdays. And no shower in the house for over a month. Things happen for a reason. I may not have a clue what the reasoning is, at this point, but a breakdown isn't going to make it better. Maybe there's a message in those forgotten dreams. |
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