Twas the night before Friday
And all thru the lab
Not a creature was stirring
Except Jason the lad
The rest of Virginia
Lie snug in their beds
While visions of tacos
Danced in his head...Yep, I'm hungry
I awoke Thursday morning in the usual state of mind which accompanies the return of consciousness. As I looked through the eastern window of my bedroom, a faint streak of orange-pink color, dividing a cloud that just rose above the low swell of the horizon, announced the approach of the sun. As my thoughts, which a deep and apparently lighthearted sleep had dissolved, began again to assume crystalline forms, the strange events of the foregoing night presented themselves anew to my inquiring mind. It came to me in that period of consciousness somewhere between sleeping and waking. (I remind you I'm almost perfectly normal, have never done drugs, and, with perhaps one small and highly debatable exception involving dry reeds, a stolen bicycle, and old pine, a small country Methodist church, and a very very small forest fire, have never smoked. Nor have I ever, again, with the exception of cough syrup and vanilla flavoring, consumed alcohol in any significant quantity, nor have the faintest idea what it tastes like. But we'll return to this subject later.) And I thought about Life.
This is a different sort of blog entry. There is no plot, no underlying thread of unity, just a long rambling semi-coherent stream of consciousness run-on sentence of things that are in my heart I felt strangely compelled to get out.
I want to write seven great American novels. I want to go on a 3 week safari in Africa and videotape lions lounging about the range rover in the hot Kenyan sun, swatting flies aimlessly with their golden tails and learn Swahili. I want to go trekking in the Alps. I want to raise sheep in New Zealand. I think I MAY want to raise chickens. I want to pan for gold in the Yukon. I'll get back to you on that one. Something compels me to move to a place where I see trees every morning, and there's a fence nearby, in the country and a long dusty road. I run on the long dusty road nearly everyday. I can also wash my car once a week here and not worry about snoopy neighbors. I have this image of myself reading bedtime stories to a little girl with long hair and twinkling eyes in a bedroom during winter. The scent of cinnamon is in the air. I am a much older man. I desire to have my own library with lots of hard-back books...thousands upon thousands...with time to read them all by a fireplace, a blanket, and a large, somewhat worn, leather chair. In a different section of the library is a well-lit area with stacks and stacks of hand-written notes and folders....and many pencils....mechanical ones. I need to get my hair cut today. I wish to spend time in the countries bordering the Mediterranean Sea. I LOVE the word 'Mediterranean.' It appeals to a deep part of my being.