Tea: Vanilla Lapsang
Music: Jayhawks, "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me"
Time: Night.
I'm trying to lose the phrase "It's the strangest thing," because -- well, really, how do you quantify that?
It's a strange thing, though: I'm becoming more efficient. I'm getting better at follow-through. I'm catching up on things I've been putting off for months.
Heaven help me, I may be growing up. Not that that's a bad thing, entirely. Has to happen sooner or later, I suppose.
It's not all bad, you know. Getting up early and staying up, for example, means I can get the routine things out of the way before they take over the day, thereby making me feel a little less guilty when it's time to slack.
What, you thought I was going all the way over to the Beige Side of the Force? No way. Sure, my inner child might have an earlier bedtime now -- but you can have my ratty Chuck Taylors, my cheesy monster movies and my rubber duck collection when you pry them out of my cold, dead fingers.
It's a balancing act, to be sure. Structure is good and necessary, but it can't take over my life. I need something of the random, the chaotic, the downright goofy -- or I'll die. Not physically, mind you, but the body is only a house for the self. And this self has to have the sparks, even if they must be a bit more controlled.
And now, time to hit the rack. Tomorrow, I get to organize the garage and make some calls on a shared story that's due next week -- and then I get to hang out with artists until well past dark-thirty.
I can live with that.
Tonight's scary story: Charles Collins, "The Compensation House"
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