Holy cow, another week has gone by. Of course, I have been home only part of that time, and being away meant that scads of stuff was waiting here to be done, tapping their figurative impatient toes as it were.
In just that short time I was away, however, 16 days, sunrise got markedly later. I rise with the sun, which means in summer my eyes open before six no matter when I closed them. But on returning to the western cusp of the time zone dawn lingered until 630. I found it hard to get going.
Maybe it is age or I am just noticing something more, but light seems to have a stronger effect on my mood than I remember in youth. Not whether I am happy or sad so much as whether I am active or passive. Even on my gloomiest days I feel a certain energy in the day. It may be nasty, angry energy, but it's energy.
But once the sun vanishes so does my ambition. Yes, I am writing this in the evening. In a few minutes, though, it will be finished. And I did it as much to stay awake to a decent hour as to send a signal down the wire to you, my two dozen loyal listeners. Thank goodness I am not burdened with the virtual fame of those bloggers who have thousands hanging on the edge of their monitors waiting for the next dose of quips and switchblade judgments.
Perhaps tomorrow I shall have wry and incisive wisdom to offer. Right now, I feel like this is the blogospheric version of Warhol’s “Sleep.” Boring, ordinary, honest. In a world where only the rich and powerful famous seem to be alive, this may be a subversive act.