night owls in orange county

it's nearly one o'clock in the morning and i'm absolutely exhausted. outside of the apartment there are noises. people still milling around, doing who knows what. the immediate answer would be that they're up to no good. after all, nothing good happens after midnight, right? chances are, however, that it's the innocent movement of night owls in orange county. could have been the title of a warren zevon tune - night owls in orange county. there is a liberating element to stream of consciousness. sort of a spalding gray, monster in a box sort of experiment. as i continue to write more regularly, i've noticed that i dream more frequently. not that i can remember any of them. what do they say about remembering dreams? who knows? i don't remember. not that any of them are bad or particularly good. bits and pieces stay with me. i remember having a dream about falling, through the levels of a multi-story shopping mall and seeing myself lifeless on the ground for a brief moment before waking up. supposedly that means i've cheated death. the concept of a hardboiled, hipster detective returned. the story has a beginning, but no middle or end. there are visions of hitmen in long black cars driving slowly past grieving parents in a cemetary. summertime by sam cooke playing on the radio. i sit staring at a box of crackers. off to my left in the kitchen sits a half eaten jar of peanut butter. the two were meant to combine for a late night snack. but late night snacks and best laid plans often are bedfellows. i spoke to midori today. she and i don't talk as often as we used to. but she is doing well. much better than i ever would have imagined. certainly the mild winters of southern california are much easier on her than the colder, foggier winters of the central valley. all around me is darkness and quiet, save for the tapping of the keyboard and the dome light in the kitchen. my concentration is broken briefly to check email - the distraction of the new millennium. my father made it a point to check the mailbox every day. as did i. now, however, instead of opening an aluminum box on a post, it's the ever present click on the aluminum box to check for a post. admittedly a strained analogy. but the distraction means that my focus is waning. the land of nod awaits. has been calling. i've been resisting. but it is futile to resist much longer. tomorrow is a new day. rather later today is a new day. or maybe a resumption of the current one. who knows? don't fight the feeling. i'm going to bed.