Tuesday, October 10, 2000

Run Down

In a more perfect world, when I sit down to write a blog post on minimal sleep, a coffee-fueled caffeine jag, and with the lingering sharp pains and dull aches that result from a 2 hour bus trip, the result would be some kind of Kerouac-ian beat poetic blurb about something relevant. Instead though, I can barely remember by the end of a sentence what I started out trying to say way back at the beginning. Something about the different way you perceive the world when your basic sustenance is Pemmican jerky scraps washed down with Red Bull soda maybe? What's been going on in the world while I've been stumbling from bed to bus to job to bus to bed? Debates: too tired to watch 'em. TV show premieres: ditto. Playoffs: I flip blearily between ESPN and Bloomberg from 5:45am to 6:00am -- the damn yanks advanced and NASDAQ is declining, the world's going to hell. I can't sleep on the bus, so I try to read instead. I'm hip deep in Crowley's Little, Big. It's OK, but I'm looking forward to a new book when I'm done with it. Music: been listening to Calexico's new album and like it a lot. Also, the new Knopfler -- getting Van Morrison to sing with him was a good idea ... James Taylor though was not. What else? Umm, moving into the new apartment, finally, this weekend. Once in, I can go back to getting decent sleep and start doing something calisthenic in the morning. The only exercise I get now is trying to find room for my legs when the guy in front of me on the bus reclines his seat. If my heart rate goes over 40bpm, it's only because when I slip into a half-waking dreamstate I think I'm running late and need to run after the bus or face the prosepect of driving through the Big Dig to try to find the office.
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