Day Three. Week One.

"I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams." ~ Hamlet

Yesterday.....Oh, sweet yesterday. 

Yesterday was an odd day for me. I honestly don't know what was taking place for a lot of it. After getting literally no sleep, I look back on it with a mix pride and horror. I say that I look back on it with pride because at my age, it's amazing that I could literally get no sleep at all, yet go out into the world an pretend to be a completely functional citizen. On the other hand, I look at some of the things that I wrote yesterday and completely understand how writers like Philip K. Dick can willingly trash a novel because they hadn't finished it before whatever drugs they happened to be on had worn off. Don't get me wrong; some of it didn't turn out too far from what I had actually planned to say. But some of it was just shockingly and pointlessly abstract. I guess the important thing to take away from the experience is the fact that I can at least tell. 

I didn't really do a whole lot, yesterday. Aside from having to interact with some professionals at a ludicrous hour, most of my day was spent making sure that the others that reside in my house were taken care of, sleep or no sleep. After all, regardless of the hours that I sleep (or lack thereof), the children need to be fed and my spouse needs to be looked after. Errands need to be run and the ebb and flow must maintain some semblance of normality. After all, the facade that we build up for the way are lives run is actually more important than whatever may be honestly taking place...

The only other thing that I did yesterday that is of any import, is drift in and out of sleep. I found that for a lot of the day, I had no real concept of time or what was taking place in the bouts of it that I was missing out on. Come to think of it, if clicks of it were passing me by with nothing really out of the ordinary taking place, then I guess that it wasn't really passing me by at all. What made it interesting were the various different horror movies that were playing throughout the day. It seemed that every time I drifted back into the land of the mostly conscience, there were soldiers turning into dog-people, some sort of fraternity locking people into a haunted mansion full of deformed lunatics, or some sort of disgruntled citizen running around with a sharp object, punishing the populace for whatever reason. Call it Reason X. It certainly made for a surreal state of being, as I'm fairly sure that my semi-functional mind was absorbing all of this in some form or another, both affecting my resting and waking states. Indeed, it wasn't until about midnight that I was actually able to fully look back on the day for what it was, and even then I ended up going back to bed for about another seven hours. 

Oh, I'm forgetting the part about the French Toast. 

At about five-ish pm, I did manage to stay functioning long enough to do the dishes and make French Toast. Which is noteworthy because the colder the climate seems to become, the higher the temperature of the water from any given faucet in the house. I'm not sure if that's just a matter of perspective, or not. Meaning, I'm not sure if it just feels that way because my hands are cold, thus making the water seem akin to molten iron, or if the water is actually physically warmer. 

The French Toast was a hit, too. Admittedly, French Toast is always pointless to me if I don't have Challah to make it with (I'm not Jewish, by the way, I just like the bread). I suppose that "Texas Toast" is a wonderful substitute, but we had none of that lounging about either. 

For what it's worth, yesterday was interesting day, filled with unique sounds, thoughts and textures. I suppose that on some level I'm glad that I did a bit of cooking and writing, though the learning experience wasn't worth the sluggish way that I went about each task, nor was being hazy against my will really much help in anything or any task that was set before me. I think that in the future, when I decide to do my writing without my wits about me, I'll just use bourbon like a writer is supposed to.