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August 1, 2022: Brief Interlude

That’s all sleep is, a brief interlude between one day and the next.

I don’t sleep well anymore. I now use the time to solve vexing problems.

For the longest time, I had an ongoing narrative going, with a list of characters and events. This could have been a book except for the fact that I did not know enough about the subject matter, veterinary medicine. It also fell apart when I killed off the central character, a veterinarian who figured out how to fly and taught others to do the same. He died after making several trips to heaven – he realized that he’d never be happy unless he was there, not as a mortal being, but as a soul.

Swampy on the stand

There were numerous other characters, but their lives revolved around his. My story was much like John Irving’s, The Hotel New Hampshire – there is, in the middle of the book, a plane crash, one in which the mother of the family is killed. The family crossed the Atlantic in two planes because they feared they’d all be killed if they went across the ocean in one plane.

The book was just not as interesting without her. I know what Irving was trying to do – he had a strong interest in orphans and was relying on a recurrent theme, bereft families. In this instance, it didn’t work. What did work was his naming their flatulent lab Sorrow. Sorrow died, was stuffed, and was taken on the plane that went down. When Sorrow was retrieved, the last line of the chapter was, “Sorrow floats.” The apt metaphor made up (almost) for the death of the mother.

I wonder if I got this all right or if I am filling in the blanks here. It’s been 20 years since I’ve read this book. That’s all one remembers after reading a book – bits and pieces. I don’t know the difference between a bit and piece, but together they have a nice wring to them.

My mind does not shut down for long at night. It recharges some, then revs up again. I try and make use of my awake time, but often, as the above indicates, my ideas are not worth elaborating on in the morning or later in the day.

Towards morning I do dream. And sometimes I remember bits and pieces.

During my waking hours, my mind remains more active, but on a more logical track.

Swampy, my goat will not leave her stanchion after I milk her unless I sing her a song. So I came up with my own words to the mockingbird song:

Hush little goatie don’t say a word,
Alys gonna buy you a mockingbird.
If that mockingbird don’t sing,
Alys gonna buy you a diamond ring.
If that diamond ring is glass,
Alys gonna buy you a braying ass.
If that braying ass goes lame,
Alys gonna buy you an aeroplane.
If that aeroplane goes down,
Alys gonna buy you a wedding gown.
If that wedding gown don’t fit,
Alys gonna buy you a sewing kit.
If that sewing kit lacks thread,
Alys gonna buy you a horse and sled.
If that horse and sled don’t move,
Alys gonna buy you a trip to the Louvre.
If that trip to the Louvre falls through,
Alys gonna put you in a petting zoo.

Next: 209. 8/2/22: Into August

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