Today I rolled out of bed, made my way through towers of unpacked dishes, and brewed my first pot of coffee in the new apartment.

I went out into the blinding afternoon sunlight. Two little boys were digging up the front lawn with their mother’s brand new kitchen utensils. I gave them a thumbs up. (Maybe this is why little kids don’t take me seriously as an adult – note to self.)

Then, I was delighted to see a mailbox full of letters, all for me! – Seeing my name handwritten on envelopes was a strangely satisfying affirmation that I actually exist on some grid.  Who’d have thought that I DO want to be found, afterall?

Perhaps the nocturnal people out there will understand.

I’ve been working later and later and sleeping later and later into the day. There is something about waking up in the afternoon that is always about rising from deep sleep.

It can really do a number on you.  I become a quasi-amnesiac because I have missed the morning news, but the headlines still sound suspiciously familiar (“Oh are we STILL doing that crap?”).

Sometimes I feel as if I am supposed to be unlocking secrets during those wee hours of night, just before dawn cracks through the sky.

Instead, the world’s demands become simplified.  My gestures are strung together, mended by a cut and a paste here and there. Occasionally, there are the pesky interjections of analog daydreams. A cut and paste, a braid, a thrill. Cut and paste, the occasional trail.

Sometimes I listen to the internal clock.

Sometimes it simply says: Ring ring ring. Time to go home now.