Facing a few weeks of unstructured existence and a lengthy period of incommunicado from someone who I constantly bombard with the entire gauntlet of daily musings, from banal to pressing, I have come full circle into a well known domain of thought. This hazy time of waiting will encompass crucial activities, but nothing I'm looking forward to. Without that connection, no matter its tacitness, I envision a time of looking for that glimmer that constantly occurs in my periphery. We once concurred it's out there- we know it is- so its existence isn't our concern, it's the deciphering of it all we're trying to clear up.
I can float around this town, wasting my time in a truly shiftless manner, or I can eat the days alive with only the intrinsic biological needs to slow me down. A few years back, I had an evening of debauchery filled with booze and me commanding everyone to "Tear it up!", while barely heeding my own fomenting. I'll truly find out if I'm living for the experience or for the prospect to tell someone else about it.
I can handle the days, It's the nights without sharing of the day-to-day that I'm fretting over. Noon and three will be hollowed out until they no longer resemble what they truly mean. I constantly hear of post-crit sleep and how it's better than any other slumber you'll experience. Tonight I don't see it happening and tomorrow isn't looking to promising either. I was dead on my feet all week; for now I'll be dead on my back.
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