Dont Mind Me It's Incremental

This is obnoxious. Why, in my one moment of complete permittance to compensate for last nights complete lack of repose with a feeble nap, do I suddenly feel inspired to write on this blog? That blog. Don't answer and I will stop asking. It's a shame that they don't have anything analogous to a 12-step process for those that compulsively confound themselves. Oh well.

The story of the day is not related to this post of the day. Reason being that I am unaware of any stories of the day.

I was up with Ivor at a ridiculously early hour. Acrtually, the hour was still late. Blurrily staggering, I proclaim to myself and to others that I got some rest, because my blinks were like Morse code to Morpheus, like, "Nooooooooooo!" But it wasn't, you know, restorative blinking.

Now Desy's drumming anyway, so I don't think it so strange that I'm awake. He plays loudly, but with a handle on dynamics that expresses something subverbal that evades his hyperarticulate precocity. I am so, so happy that he has that venue. My parents just sent me a beautiful new crash cymbal for my birthday (tomorrow), and its resonance is very warm and embracing. To hear Desmond play with it is so magical.

Aaaaaaaaaaand hypnotic. Now I have to nap. Crap. More soon.
(elapsed 19 hours)

Yes. Well, now I'm thirty four, which is neither here nor there, but my visit last night from the birthday surgeon gave me one obvious white hair near each of my ears. That shit is real.

For everything that defies logic, there is a logical trajectory. I don't know what that means or why that matters, but I desperately need another nap, for sure.

I'm often asked what I want for my birthday. Generally speaking, I don't want much of anything except exemption from unpleasant variousnesses (examples: barking creditors, abrupt neighbors, passive-aggressive mock-friends, my 2 children pummeling each other, loneliness in a state where we feel exiled, headaches, thwarted attempts at romance with my one true love, et al.), which en toto feels exactly like a gift.

Another gift: the right to NAP. Which I'll do now.

(elapsed 2 hours)

I didn't nap, and I should've. I gave up on it when Pat Sajak appeared in some hypnagogic depth. I was like, "This ruinous image can't be overwritten in time for me to enjoy the remainder of the day." So, I went for a walk with Molly, Desmond, and Ivor.

Adjective Old Year

Plerase note here that nobody says, "Happy Old Year." On the day of New Year's Eve, I wonder why they give up so easily in considering this ever-scarcer 2011 to be entirely spent. Today, it would be just like saying, "Have a good one," which is hardly outside of the bell curve.

I would suggest that it is nothing short of foolhardy to look only a little bit ahead with such faux-rabidity. Holy crap. Why not just kiss each other now instead of waiting for Dick Clark or Anderson Cooper to administer the go ahead? You can always kiss each other later--you'll be just as special later on.

Gosh, and think even farther ahead to Monday, or whenever people return to work, feeling both wistful and daunted and still dating things with '2011' by accident: is that actually thrilling?

So, all that I'm trying to say is that the future might be exciting, but let's face it: so is THE PRESENT, except the present boasts the additional distinction of being here NOW. But happiness and love to you and yours, in both this old year and the one that is nearly nigh.