Damn Thursday

I started my morning, waking up oddly refereshed for it being 1 am and then proceeded to lie in bed and watch part of a Discovery Channel documentary on volcanoes before going through the morning routine of washing, drying, straightening, painting, perfuming, and dressing before driving into work.

The way the streets always seem to glisten and the stoplights can be seen clear down the road tend to give the middle of the night a certain uncharacterizable charm. This is probably the only time of the day that can be as interesting at the end of waking hours as it is at the begining. Even the radio stations play better music at night. Usually, I try to find the old "AM Gold" standards - Moody Blues, Three Dog, etc, but this morning it was all about the hair-rock. Can't really recall the song on the radio, but can tell you that it was one that inspired me to think of the last time in the middle of the night, I kicked back and enjoyed the radio. Sitting on couches, somewhere in Kentucky, listening to "Sweet Child of Mine" and marveling over the GuitarGod known as Slash. The night is always conducive to etching even the most mundane into the brain.

So here I am, sitting at my desk in what is now almost my 4th hour at work. Considering hopping in the car and driving into town for a real (unhealthy) breakfast and a newspaper and a good view of the sun rising. Today I must remain in motion for if I stop, it'll be too tempting to sleep. Under the desk? Out in my car? In the bathroom? There are very few good options for refuge from the waking world. And too many options for thought. I think I think too much. I think I need to decide what all to see and do while back up in Chicago for the weekend. I think I need to go get some breakfast.