Quarter of one in the morning.

Tomorrow I’m going to treat myself to a little trip to the booksellers on Valley River Drive just for a change in scenery to relieve the craziness. I keep thinking that I’m tired, but it’s not really fatigue; more a kind of dullness almost like apathy and resignation. Occasionally it occurs to me to reread The Sheltering Sky for the masterful writing by Paul Bowles. It’s a Saturday night, so I hear the sounds of rowdy people in their cars over on N. Park or farther away, as well as the typical clashing of freight cars in the yards by Northwest Expressway. At midnight I woke up and reminded Aesop of the garlic cheese still in the fridge. So we got up and dusted it off. Here and there a dream will come back to me; like this morning when I dreamed the 40th Anniversary edition of Moving Pictures was released on CD and I found it in a bin at Fred Meyer. The reality is that Fred Meyer doesn’t stock CDs in their home electronics section anymore; those days are gone… There must be a perk to being realistic with the coming of maturity, and I think it’s that people respect you better than when you were a foolish idealist. About 11 years ago my brother and I were out driving on 7th Street downtown on a sunny day. To my left on the sidewalk, a bum held up a cardboard sign: “Vision of a cheeseburger.” We laughed. But in the blink of an eye, the roles can be reversed: so that royalty is really a fleeting state of mind. 


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