Tuesday, October 08, 2002
This is one of those mornings when most of my body seems unwilling or incapable of waking up. I hope I live to see the day when we figure out a way to avoid sleep, a pill or shot or something. Not something to merely delay sleep, but to actually eliminate any need for it. Something that would give our minds or body or whatever part of us needs that little practice at dying whatever benefits sleep might have to offer, but leave our consciousness alone. Our lives would effectively be extended by decades. Each day would be, on average, one-third longer. A twenty year old would have had about thirty years of effective consciousness, and so on. Instead of trying to find ways to make these meat sacks last longer, in an absolute sense, we could make better use of them while they're still in decent shape. Use the time we have. The time we waste lying on mattresses with our eyes shut and our minds lost elsewhere. I hope I live that long.
I can tell that Writer Caitlin is ascending again. The procrastination game has resumed. That's the surest sign that I need. What can I do or say to forestall the inevitable chore, the dredging of my unconscious for words and images and characters, for another history?
I can write in this silly Blogger. And why the frell are they called "bloggers" or "blogs" anyway? Is it a contraction of "web log"? Web log = weblog = w'blog = blog? That looks feasible, in a naive, linear evolutionary sense. No one ever bothers to explain these things to me. Of course, if they did, it would probably just annoy me. I still can't fathom why we have to put "http://" before "www," or, for that matter, why there has to be a "www" at all. This thing was designed from the ground up, after all. It could have been built to work as we please, without a lot of extraneous code. How much of my life has been wasted typing "http://" because some geek somewhere, ten years ago, thought we should constantly be reminded that, after all, this is hypertext transfer protocol, and not https or ftp or whatever? Maybe it was some kneejerk reaction against gopher. See, I'll talk about anything, no matter how intrinsically dull, to avoid writing.
Blah.
Down here, the nights are turning cool, so Autumn isn't too far away. I have to be in Providence by the 30th, at the latest, because I refuse to spend another Halloween trapped in Birmingham. As early as late next week, I may drive up to find the apartment, as soon as I've finished this story and packed the things I don't trust anyone else to pack for me. My time in Birmingham is almost served, for good, forever. Whoever wants this place is welcome to it. The geology isn't bad, the kudzu is interesting, and what little bit of hitsory they haven't yet paved over to make room for strip malls is kind of nice. Aside from that, don't bother.
Sheesh. How can it only be 11:12 a.m.? It feels like I've been up forever already.
There are things that Einstein should have kept to himself . . .
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