June 8, 2006
It's a nice stretch of spring/summer coastal California weather, so I figured on a short overnight trip to someplace I'd not been before. Lo and behold, for no reason I can easily suss out, my eyes will not shut last night. Sleep took me, and not so securely, at 3:30am and expelled me from her gauzy clutches at 6:30.
With near certainty that this aberration in somnambulic activity will lead to others in the near future (sudden naps or an early bedtime), I have resolved to not go to Santa Cruz tonight. The hostel is still charging me for a night because of lack of 48 hours notice. They should smoke some of their legal weed and chill.
So, here I sit bleary of mind and oddly poetic in finger and tongue (or so I imagine myself; past girlfriends would likely disagree) with naught to do but piddle away the day again in a sanguine orgy of Internet, television, books and majestic fantasy of productive contribution that will never come to be.
Perhaps it's just as well that plans for another distraction have come and gone so quickly. How many coastal redwoods must a man observe in his life before the reality of the things sticks to his core? For that matter, how much "observation" can a man do before he gets that, although pleasant and giving in healthy perspective, that "observation" is not the point of it all (if there be a point to be had).
"You are what you love" - Adaptation
I should find something to love so I can be something. But for today, I think I may wait for sullen sleep to make her rounds again and find me humble before her. Tomorrow I will find another procrastination if I can muster the minimum willpower for self-deception.