Ok, so I now find myself in this loopy circular thinking. If I write my first thoughts before I go to bed, are they my first thoughts (as I think them) or my last thoughts (of the day)? What if I happen to be up late at night writing before I go to bed and I happen to be up past midnight and I continue to write? Aren't those thoughts for a new day? Are they still my first thoughts? Yes, they are the first thoughts as my last thoughts of the day before I go to bed even if those thoughts are the first thoughts of a new day.
Is the time I perceive divided into segments of being awake and being asleep in alternating modes? The definition of "day" is in the perspective of the perceiver. When does the day start for a third shifter? At midnight, when they wake up, or when they are off of work? The weekend is often considered to start on Friday afternoons after work is completed. Let's say I stay awake for a day and a half writing, and then I go to bed. As I lay in bed, I might say to myself "that was a long day". The vigilance of time seems to be for consistent reference points for gauging how long something has been going on. Punch the clock, work overtime, sleep in, and stay up late. Our definition of what is an acceptable amount of time for these actions varies in as many people as there are gauging these actions.
Somehow "Blog of First Thoughts as I Think Them" is too complicated. I'd much rather amuse my muse with unintentional ambiguity and stick with BLOGOFT. It actually comforts me quite a bit being content without any disambiguation of thought.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
An Explicitly Legitimate Knocking
5:45am, I’m sleeping. Somewhere in 1993, August perhaps. The one August I happen to live alone in an apartment building on the second floor. Sound asleep at 5:50am.
Knock knock, long pause. Knock knock knock knock, long pause. As I wake, Knock knock knock knock knock.
This is not just some random noise. Not quite the drunk neighbor below tripping on his furniture, but just as loud. And then again confirming my suspicions, an explicitly legitimate knock. Knock knock knock knock knock. This is serious knuckles on wood at 5:55am. It’s got that answer the door sound of a landlord collecting rent. It’s got that can’t you hear me knocking sound of a cold canvassing environmentalist. It’s got that I’m not going away sound of a Jehovah’s Witness who knows you’re home. Knock knock knock knock knock. Undoubtedly an official knock.
I alluded my interest in the knockee with a lackadaisical saunter to peek out the window to see if I could catch a spy on who was knocking and I woke up all at once as I looked. It was the police, a whole half a front yard full of police. EEK! That explains the knock. Once I saw it was the police I went to answer the door.
By 6am I was half way down the stairs when I saw their boots through the front door triple stacked windows. It was then I realized that I was in my underwear. Great, watch some neighbor open the door to see what is going on and I’m standing around in my cartoon boxers with the police. I’ll just answer the door, let ‘em in and scram back up to bed.
So I’m going up the stairs. Hmm, I thought out loud under my breath. They’re going up the stairs too. I furrowed my brow with confusion trying to think of a way to tell the police that not only are beginning to invade my personal space but they disturbed me from my warm sound sleep. They were all coming up behind me for somebody on my floor. I turned the corner to just mine and the old lady’s apartment across the hall and the police followed suit.
Rushing thought: They’re either here for me or Mabel; all Mabel does is make hot dog casserole, fill the bird feeder in her slippers and talk about the weather. Hmm, they’re not here for the old lady.
Hmm, reaching for my doorknob in slow realization that they were indeed coming to my place I asked them “You guys aren’t going to arrest me in my underwear, are you”? They asked me “Are you Scott Somethingorhteother”? I felt like Henry Chinaski from Barfly, answering the door in my boxers. I almost said “No! I’m Leon Spinks!” before I slammed the door in their faces, but I didn’t. Capitulate I thought, in nothing but your underwear, capitulate. Don’t resist anything to a hallway full of cops when all you have is your underwear. I did offer them Scott’s Somethingorhteother’s alias names though (I’ve been reading his junk mail. His junk mail is exceptionally trashy). I handed them some catalogs as evidence and showed them my ID as further evidence.
You know those signs at the gas station that say “Drive offs will be prosecuted”. They’re serious. Apparently the DMV still has Scott’s old address - mine. They said thank you and sorry. I said no problem.
Knock knock, long pause. Knock knock knock knock, long pause. As I wake, Knock knock knock knock knock.
This is not just some random noise. Not quite the drunk neighbor below tripping on his furniture, but just as loud. And then again confirming my suspicions, an explicitly legitimate knock. Knock knock knock knock knock. This is serious knuckles on wood at 5:55am. It’s got that answer the door sound of a landlord collecting rent. It’s got that can’t you hear me knocking sound of a cold canvassing environmentalist. It’s got that I’m not going away sound of a Jehovah’s Witness who knows you’re home. Knock knock knock knock knock. Undoubtedly an official knock.
I alluded my interest in the knockee with a lackadaisical saunter to peek out the window to see if I could catch a spy on who was knocking and I woke up all at once as I looked. It was the police, a whole half a front yard full of police. EEK! That explains the knock. Once I saw it was the police I went to answer the door.
By 6am I was half way down the stairs when I saw their boots through the front door triple stacked windows. It was then I realized that I was in my underwear. Great, watch some neighbor open the door to see what is going on and I’m standing around in my cartoon boxers with the police. I’ll just answer the door, let ‘em in and scram back up to bed.
So I’m going up the stairs. Hmm, I thought out loud under my breath. They’re going up the stairs too. I furrowed my brow with confusion trying to think of a way to tell the police that not only are beginning to invade my personal space but they disturbed me from my warm sound sleep. They were all coming up behind me for somebody on my floor. I turned the corner to just mine and the old lady’s apartment across the hall and the police followed suit.
Rushing thought: They’re either here for me or Mabel; all Mabel does is make hot dog casserole, fill the bird feeder in her slippers and talk about the weather. Hmm, they’re not here for the old lady.
Hmm, reaching for my doorknob in slow realization that they were indeed coming to my place I asked them “You guys aren’t going to arrest me in my underwear, are you”? They asked me “Are you Scott Somethingorhteother”? I felt like Henry Chinaski from Barfly, answering the door in my boxers. I almost said “No! I’m Leon Spinks!” before I slammed the door in their faces, but I didn’t. Capitulate I thought, in nothing but your underwear, capitulate. Don’t resist anything to a hallway full of cops when all you have is your underwear. I did offer them Scott’s Somethingorhteother’s alias names though (I’ve been reading his junk mail. His junk mail is exceptionally trashy). I handed them some catalogs as evidence and showed them my ID as further evidence.
You know those signs at the gas station that say “Drive offs will be prosecuted”. They’re serious. Apparently the DMV still has Scott’s old address - mine. They said thank you and sorry. I said no problem.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Too Slow with BLOGOFT
Sleep is for the weak. I remember checking to see if the blog address I was interested in was available. It was. Then I pondered and procrastonated for a long while. Just ecactly what do I WANT to say? What SHOULD I say? It Dont Matter!
I wanted to grab blogoft.blogspot. but BLOG OF T got there first. You snooze you looze. So Timothy has the address I wanted. http://blogoft.blogspot.com Kudos to him for beating me to it. I'll settle for the whole thing blogoffirstthoughts.blogspot.
I wanted to grab blogoft.blogspot. but BLOG OF T got there first. You snooze you looze. So Timothy has the address I wanted. http://blogoft.blogspot.com Kudos to him for beating me to it. I'll settle for the whole thing blogoffirstthoughts.blogspot.
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