Perforated Lines (you can't resist 'em!)

 a long way to go
-- Sunday, September 26, 1999 --



2:15 a.m. It's technically tomorrow, but I'm still up. We can't be rigid about this, you know.

3:50 a.m. I'm working through the backlog of email postings to the journal news list. All those voices, all those links ... I'm intent on getting all my folders read and emptied so I can join in the conversations again. Can't post until I've read everything.

4:16 a.m. I'm yawning. And I really really want to go to bed. I'm going to have to admit that I've tried to do too many things today. I have failed to complete even one simple task. Well, actually, I did one thing. I made chicken soup -- not for the soul, but for the bowl.

And I watched most of the 25th anniversary special of Saturday Night Live, and it was a melancholy thing, indeed. People have died. People have become unrecognizable. Twenty five years ago I watched the show on a TV set in a basement playroom. I had big dreams.

It seems no distant than yesterday. I could get up from this computer, go through that door, round the corner and go right back down those stairs to 1976. That's how clearly I remember.

And just as surely as I know my own memories, back then I knew my own imagination. I believed in myself, for no good reason. And I believed in my future. I was so sure of things back then that I could have turned off the TV, gotten up from the couch, climbed the orange shag-carpeted stairs, and sat right down here in 1999 to write.

I am the person I imagined.

And now? Now I must climb the white-carpeted stairs and go to sleep, perforce to dream. There's tomorrow to create and it's still hazy, after all these years.



email Street Mail Shadow Lawn Press archives

yesterday September tomorrow

apple all verbiage © Nancy Hayfield Birnes apple