Morning

Why have I been up since 6AM on a Saturday, when I can barely open my eyes by 9AM during the week, you ask? An excellent question, friend, to which I have no answer. I've had a cold for the past several days and have been in a steady pattern of sleeping and waking and sleeping and waking and have been allowing myself to follow the natural rhythm of things, figuring my body knows what it needs to get better. But really, body, this? You're not going to let me sleep in on a Saturday? What did I ever do to you?

Don't answer that. I'm taking my health a lot more seriously than I ever have before -- not that I've taken it for granted, per se, but I've overlooked certain healthy habits that, as I approach my fourth decade, can no longer be overlooked. Like regular exercise, that sort of thing. And not indulging my every whim. I suppose I have taken it for granted. I don't anymore.

I'm reading The Age of Innocence right now, which Edith Wharton wrote in 1920. And really liking it. I want to be back on a reading kick. My mother, by the way, is one of the preeminent collectors of Edith Wharton (first editions), and so hers is a name I've known since nearly as long as I can remember. Yet somehow this is the first of her books that I'm reading. Good stuff.

Okay, I'm going to attempt to capture a few more hours. Two nights ago I had a dream that I was at the funeral of a gal around my age who had killed herself by jumping into the Thames, and Tom Waits performed at the service. He sounded great.

This just popped into my head, one of my favorites:

Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you,
Birds singing in the sycamore trees,
Dream a little dream of me...

At this point, I'd be happy to dream a little dream about anybody. Really. Even this guy -- remember this guy? I learned a few things about him recently, which I will share soon:


Holy smokes I'm exhausted. Going to give it another shot...