I awoke last night, at a time both late and early, but neither morning nor evening. The nether period between 2:30 and 3:30; it's too early to rise and workout, but yet late enough that if sleep does not quickly return, the night can be lost. My night's sleep was indeed lost to the thought train barreling through the tunnels of my frontal lobe.
Last night that train resembled a Shinkansen (bullet train). I could not stop the stream of ideas and sentiments. I remembered Angela's birthday. I remembered the first girl I ever kissed. I tried to connect the dots. But I couldn't.
I remembered some advice I read in a book on writing, authored I think by Woody Allen. That advice, keep a notebook by the bed as the creative thoughts that flow on awakening are rich but fleeting. Seemed like good advice once upon a time, but lack of any real writing skill or creativity lead me to immediately abandon my notebook. I never started another one.
Somehow, last night's thoughts seemed lush and connected. I thought I might be able to prepare a blog post expressing the joy and pain of knowing certain people to whom I no longer speak. Perhaps add a youtube video of a song we shared from an era long gone by. Maybe an image or three.
Then actual morning arrived and I slogged through a coffee preparing lunch for Jacob before heading to the shower. The clearer my mind grew as the day wore on, the more I realized it was all a shit mash-up. My past before my present barely reaches me anymore no matter how sentimental I am. And sentimentality is after all the beginning and end of that anyways, so what's the point?
I really don't know, but here's a classic to take the edge off.
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