I didn't get a post up at all yesterday. I hadn't slept well, even after a hard day Wednesday, and I got called to do a night shift last night. So I spent the middle of yesterday dozing, and trying to catch up on rest. I used to enjoy the night shifts, especially once the faculty had all left and I had the plant to myself. I could drone on in the dark, and quiet, attending to the simple tasks at hand, and have my mind free to wander where it would. But the body at fifty six commands a greater portion of that brain space, and what's left doesn't wander so much as it strays into bad neighborhoods, and picks fights with some of the more unsavory inhabitants.
And I didn't sleep again last night, and I'll probably have another night shift tonight.
I'd still be in bed right now, except that pudgy old Booger the Cat will not tolerate me lying abed while Mary is up and about. She jumps up on the bed, starts at my ankles, marches up to my chest, and sticks her cold, wet nose in my face, all the while making soft, but very concerned mewls, and chirps, and cries. Some cats seem to form a consonant when they mew. With most, it's sort of an "M". Booger the Cat pronounces a distinct "W": 'weeerng, weeerng'. Sometimes I'll get a couple gentle swats in the face. If I open my eyes, and say "g'morning Boogies" she sits in the middle of my chest and just purrs until I get up. All very cute, and endearing and all, but sometimes I'd just rather sleep.
In a way too, I'm taking a step back here, and reconsidering the direction that the wfb seems to have taken. I wanted to keep things light, and amusing, leave metaphysics to those with a better feel for it, and avoid serious topics altogether. That was the plan anyway, insofar as I had a plan at all. But the last two posts just sort of came out of nowhere, and I hit the 'publish post' button despite having some serious reservations about doing so.
Maybe it comes back to the whole synchronicity thing. Years back, one of my mentors, artist Janet Church, used to encourage me to write. It was Janet Church who introduced me to my wife, Mary. I was not interested in writing. I'd had my fill of it in school, and I saw more of it than I cared to see at work. It was more satisfying to draw, or carve. I would drop by her frame shop and gallery, and she'd tell me, "Go away, I'm too busy to talk right now." That would usually be the opening volley in a long discussion about art, beauty, and matters of the spirit. Janet would taunt me occasionally about not believing in God. "I do believe in God, Janet." I'd insist. "Sort of. I just don't like the religion thing." Sometimes I'd toss an observation off the top of my head, and she'd insist on pausing the discussion to write it down. She used to say that someday I would start writing. "You should write," she'd admonish me. And it would seem that that's what I'm doing right now. But Janet's at Rose Hills, in a plot that commands a view all the way to the towers of Los Angeles. I bet she would have had a blast in the coonosphere.
Anyway. I'm pecking away at a review of disc number two from Will's two record set. Sometime in the not too distant future I'll have it on line. And that's about all I got for now.
A later on in the afternoon update:
So this is how it goes. I caught a few Z's, and had Mary wake me up an hour before the night shift starts. I re-heated some coffee, which sort of brought the nervous system back on line, and waited to hear if I'd get a call. Yesterday, the boss said I'd probably be on for tonight, but he wasn't sure. I waited, and then figured I'd better play it safe, so I got my keys, flashlight, and gloves, and walked over to the school where the shift would start if the night guy was going to be out. (It's less than a block from the house.) Usually he's there about fifteen minutes before starting time. I was hanging perfectly on the cusp of ambivalence. I really wanted to just kick back, and fart around here at home, but I got enough rest to get me through the shift, and after all, we do need the money.
I waited at the front gate, and just as I abandoned all hope, and resigned myself to the long cold slog, the night guy showed up.
*sigh of relief*
And of course I wasn't but halfway home before I started going, "Damn. Another night and no work." I swear, if my head was somebody else, I'd clobber their ass.