rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Rest Twenty-Two, Day Nine

It looks like I can no longer drag myself out of bed before two o'clock in the afternoon. Thursday it was half past two. It's a routine, sort of, and I sort of wanted a routine. Be careful what you wish for. Once again I spent the last couple of hours not really sleeping, but Passing in and out of something resembling consciousness and something resembling sleep, with a lot of fleeting memory and even more fleeting thoughts.

I think I might have sung a few songs, but maybe I only dreamed that I did that. I know I spent some indeterminate period of time either imagining or dreaming that I was in the cloister of Frances E. Willard School, in one of the rooms that surrounded which I spent the better part of first grade. I wasn't surprised to see it. It has haunted me for going on seven decades. I might have dreamed or imagined I heard the piano music I actually heard there one day, sounding from one of the classrooms. I don't know what the music was, and that too has haunted me. I have sometimes thought that if I could recognize it, the mystery of that time would come clear.

But where I am is of course the mini-metropolis, sweltering under the clouds of smoke, wondering whatever became of whatever it was that has had something become of it. My memory has sort of atomized, and the fragments do not lend themselves to coherent analysis. No recursion for the recurring thwartedness of my comprehension. These days I sit around wondering why I didn't do a lot of drugs, as I seem to have ended up in the same sort of place I would have ended up if I had, but I didn't have all that fun I could have had along the way. It seems like such a waste.

The fire news is both good and bad. The Dixie fire expanded by almost 40,000 acres Thursday, but no more towns were consumed. The River fire, threatening Placer and Nevada Counties, is not expanding as rapidly as feared, and Thursday reached only 2,600 acres. Pfft. What a piddly little thing. Why, even North Carolina currently has 40,000 acres in flames, and Georgia has about 24,000. Are we going to let those upstarts steal our infernos the way they've stolen our back-office jobs? I say hell, no!

The prospects for sleep do not seem good at the moment. I'll try anyway. Outside for a bit of cool, though slightly smoky, air first, and then a bit of bittersweet chocolate with almonds and a few pages of Scott Fitzgerald to relax me into torpor. I need my sleep, to prepare myself for this afternoon's hour or two of aimless, demented maundering.
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