lets get all exsitensial on the morning
It is 6:30 in the morning. I have been seeing this time quite a bit recently. I realize that is not a big deal for most of you. My understanding of what you, my somewhat imaginary LJ friends, have been up to is that many of you are now full-fledged adults with insurance policies and everything.
I have joined you in this trip to an extent, but career choices as they are have me going to bed by 4:30 a.m. at the latest, and I certainly don't care to have your mortgage or responsibilities.
I have been seeing the morning again, not out of any conscious choice, I assure you, but here I am.
I often saw morning, until about 5 years ago. This used to be the time I most treasured. I did my best thinking, best writing, best pontificating, etc. to whatever was the 6 a.m. show on CNN. That's not to say I was a master of any of those subjects, but I reached the fullest of my own potential then. According to me, at least.
I remember when I was a diner rat, and the ride home from five pots of coffee would happen while the people who wake up and start traditional days were beginning the commute. I always loved it, there was a knowledge that day jobs were how things ran. If I wanted to go to the grocery store, buy coffee, buy smokes, or play a video game, it was dependent on the office worker's bureaucracy.
I also feared that someday, that would be me.
I have, as such, dodged that bullet.
I am fully aware of how juvenile that sounds. This is not braggadocio or remorse, by the by. It's just remembrance.
I'm sure that much of how I viewed the morning was skewed by all nights coffee, then later, the illicits that helped me view the new day every-day. Being up-and-moving with the up-and-comers allowed me to at least feel slightly productive in perpetual back-pedaling and I was spear-heading.
I guess, since this is only recent insomnia, I don't have a current perspective on morning. If you exclude annoyance, that is. It would ridiculous to hold anything against a time, and I have far better uses for ridiculousness in my life.
That makes morning a blank slate. Looking outside to gauge an opinion wouldn't bring much. The street is as short and inactive. Do you know any midgets that play WoW?
Is it a weekday? Yes, it is Monday, seeing folks moving at what is now 7:04 is not an absurd notion. I would see no one. The college professor on one side, and the two college houses across the street, are all celebrating last week's end to the semester in the way I wish I was just celebrating it being Monday.
I sat down to write this morning, because it was so often something I have done in the morning. Not to say anything particular, I lost that inclination. I have put characters to monitors a few times since I gave it up, but those usually involved any pen-and-paper gaming I have been involved in or break-up letters. Both of which I have failed to bring any true level of quality to.
When I started writing, CNN was showing some sort of documentary that is so popular these days. This is not part of a good morning's writing. The repetitiveness of the highlights of the twenty-four news cycle are an essential mantra to this kind of meditation, and ms-NBC will have to do. Joe Scarborough's cackle interrupts my chi flow.
So does them playing the Sex Pistols. I had to scratch that. There is nothing really sacred about the Pistols. My eighteen year old self knows that, even if he won't admit it.
Last Winter, at the bar, we were playing Guitar Hero during the evening. There was a guy in his mid-thirties who came in, and was pretty pissed at the whole thing. He enlightened us to the fact that it was just karaoke for guitars. We never would have figured out that on our own, mind you. After he heard me shredding it up on Expert to both the Pistols and the Dead Kennedys, he stormed out and yelled 'Is nothing sacred?'. I can see where he is coming from with DK, but he specifically mentioned both before he went out the door. Also, yes, nothing is sacred, don't let your religion hit you in the nut-sack on the way out.
I do think there are people that seem to think Obama is magic, but I think Joe has overblown that argument a bit. JOE! You are starting to make Pat Buchanan sound like a rational man, and I will hate you forever if you do that to me.
Soon it will be eight, and that is just past the ultimate writing time. Physics has given you a reprieve. I will not be going to bed though, I am going to stay up today to enable me to pass out at least a few hours after this today is over.
I plan on staying back on my righted schedule. It was at 6:30 in the morning that my malaise funded most of my thinking and writing. I find that it was the corporate backer of this morning's little endeavor. Malaise is at a minimum right now and I have no desire to be stuck in front of this damned computer, using a microscope to contemplate it, while the sun rises.
For the first time ever, I have no desire to wallow in what little filth I have in my life.
I have joined you in this trip to an extent, but career choices as they are have me going to bed by 4:30 a.m. at the latest, and I certainly don't care to have your mortgage or responsibilities.
I have been seeing the morning again, not out of any conscious choice, I assure you, but here I am.
I often saw morning, until about 5 years ago. This used to be the time I most treasured. I did my best thinking, best writing, best pontificating, etc. to whatever was the 6 a.m. show on CNN. That's not to say I was a master of any of those subjects, but I reached the fullest of my own potential then. According to me, at least.
I remember when I was a diner rat, and the ride home from five pots of coffee would happen while the people who wake up and start traditional days were beginning the commute. I always loved it, there was a knowledge that day jobs were how things ran. If I wanted to go to the grocery store, buy coffee, buy smokes, or play a video game, it was dependent on the office worker's bureaucracy.
I also feared that someday, that would be me.
I have, as such, dodged that bullet.
I am fully aware of how juvenile that sounds. This is not braggadocio or remorse, by the by. It's just remembrance.
I'm sure that much of how I viewed the morning was skewed by all nights coffee, then later, the illicits that helped me view the new day every-day. Being up-and-moving with the up-and-comers allowed me to at least feel slightly productive in perpetual back-pedaling and I was spear-heading.
I guess, since this is only recent insomnia, I don't have a current perspective on morning. If you exclude annoyance, that is. It would ridiculous to hold anything against a time, and I have far better uses for ridiculousness in my life.
That makes morning a blank slate. Looking outside to gauge an opinion wouldn't bring much. The street is as short and inactive. Do you know any midgets that play WoW?
Is it a weekday? Yes, it is Monday, seeing folks moving at what is now 7:04 is not an absurd notion. I would see no one. The college professor on one side, and the two college houses across the street, are all celebrating last week's end to the semester in the way I wish I was just celebrating it being Monday.
I sat down to write this morning, because it was so often something I have done in the morning. Not to say anything particular, I lost that inclination. I have put characters to monitors a few times since I gave it up, but those usually involved any pen-and-paper gaming I have been involved in or break-up letters. Both of which I have failed to bring any true level of quality to.
When I started writing, CNN was showing some sort of documentary that is so popular these days. This is not part of a good morning's writing. The repetitiveness of the highlights of the twenty-four news cycle are an essential mantra to this kind of meditation, and ms-NBC will have to do. Joe Scarborough's cackle interrupts my chi flow.
So does them playing the Sex Pistols. I had to scratch that. There is nothing really sacred about the Pistols. My eighteen year old self knows that, even if he won't admit it.
Last Winter, at the bar, we were playing Guitar Hero during the evening. There was a guy in his mid-thirties who came in, and was pretty pissed at the whole thing. He enlightened us to the fact that it was just karaoke for guitars. We never would have figured out that on our own, mind you. After he heard me shredding it up on Expert to both the Pistols and the Dead Kennedys, he stormed out and yelled 'Is nothing sacred?'. I can see where he is coming from with DK, but he specifically mentioned both before he went out the door. Also, yes, nothing is sacred, don't let your religion hit you in the nut-sack on the way out.
I do think there are people that seem to think Obama is magic, but I think Joe has overblown that argument a bit. JOE! You are starting to make Pat Buchanan sound like a rational man, and I will hate you forever if you do that to me.
Soon it will be eight, and that is just past the ultimate writing time. Physics has given you a reprieve. I will not be going to bed though, I am going to stay up today to enable me to pass out at least a few hours after this today is over.
I plan on staying back on my righted schedule. It was at 6:30 in the morning that my malaise funded most of my thinking and writing. I find that it was the corporate backer of this morning's little endeavor. Malaise is at a minimum right now and I have no desire to be stuck in front of this damned computer, using a microscope to contemplate it, while the sun rises.
For the first time ever, I have no desire to wallow in what little filth I have in my life.