Wednesday, January 04, 2006

I'm writing tonight just for the sake of writing so don't take any of the following too seriously:

I like late night. It is quiet. Even Bailey the Killer Beagle hides under blankets or afghans. She doesn't want to be messed with after 10PM. It is like she can tell time. I think she would get up for a Milky Bone but I'm not sure. She'd much rather I deliver it. That's not happening.

What is it about the darkness that attracts me? I think it is because my life tends to be so public that anytime I can hide I just naturally take advantage of it. I like to go to the car wash here in our little burb. It's the kind you put money into and this machine goes round and round soaping, rinsing, waxing, and rinsing once again. It promises not to touch your car... only wash it. Right. Like that is possible. Anyway, at one point, if you pay for the ultra good job, it goes around you two times (a bonus round!) squirting you with multi-colored foam. Each color is supposed to do something different. I don't know what because I seldom bother to read the fine print on anything. And truthfully, I doubt that it works anyway. I pay the extra because I get to sit in my cool Mustang and hide. Nobody can see through the foam. Well, I can't see out so I assume nobody can see in. Their is a flaw in my logic at this point. When I purchased my Mustang I chose one that is "electric green" with a khaki convertible top. To the best of my knowledge it is the only one in town. Therefore, if I want to hide ... my car is not the best place to do it. Everybody in my church knows who owns that car. Every teenager in my youth group knows who owns that car. Every cop in town knows who owns that car. And I am pretty sure that they all know the car is not capable of driving to the car wash on its own ... so they know I'm in the thing. See what I mean? Bad logic. But I don't care. I feel hidden. Kind of like a small child who thinks you cannot see him if he is under the covers. Maybe this is all a sad commentary on my life and the way I live it. I don't really care. Maybe I cannot truly hide but if I can convince myself that I can, well that is almost as good.

You know what I hate? I have this place that I go to at least once each day. They sell my favorite caffiene there. I fill the 32 oz. cup knowing that I will never finish it. I seldom do. The ice melts long before the cup is 2/3rd empty. I should by the smaller 20 oz. cup but when I do they give me pennies in change and I don't want pennies. The 32 oz. cup costs .99 with tax and I always throw the left over penny in the "give a penny/take a penny" tray. It's just easier to hand them a dollar and walk. But it doesn't quite work that way. I know most of the people that work there by sight. I don't "know" them... I just know them. Know what I mean? We speak every day and never really say anything. It's one of those "comfort" things where you feel like you know somebody because they are a part of your morning (or evening) scenery. But there isn't really a connection of any depth or quality. I'm fifty years old. Most of them are in their twenties. What I hate is when I see one of them and they say something like, "Hi, hun." Or, "Hello, dear." They don't know my name. They don't know where I live. They do know what I do for a living but only because I come in occasionally in a suit and they get curious and ask. But the point is that they really don't have the right to call me hun or dear. Maybe I'm silly but that is a right reserved for somebody who I am really a "dear" to. Or a "honey" to. The honey part is pretty much the sole domain of my wife and I don't really like anybody else tromping on it. She might not call me honey very often but it's there for her if she wants to use it. There are multiple people that can call me "dear" without bothering me. That's slightly more generic. I would hope that one or two friends would find our relationship dear to them. Their is a deep intimacy attached to "honey" in my mind. A lesser intimacy (but still an intimacy) is attached to "dear." Am I being too picky? Maybe. But this is my blog and if you bother to read it I don't charge you anything. You are probably somebody that could call me "dear" without bothering me. Give it a try and then winke once ... I'll know the signal and I'll tell you if you are in my "dear club" or not.

Ok, it's late and tomorrow is getting closer. I'm trying to train myself to start the process of going to sleep before 11PM. It isn't easy for me. Like I said, I love the dark. And the quiet. It's nice. I feel good at night. It is a shame to ruin it with the unconsiousness of sleep. But such is the nature of life. There is not going to be any night in heaven. It says so in the book of Revelation. I know that heaven is lit by the presence of God Himself and that will make up for any missing of the night time I might experience. But down here .... it's my time.

It's 11:02 and I didn't quite make it. But I'm going to try ... starting .... NOW!