Day Four

A Picture of my night:

I started to go outside and take a picture of the streetlight across from the next-door neighbor's, with a moody perspective.  I'd have captioned it "Hello lamp-post, whatcha knowin'?" because I sing that to it sometimes when I'm outside late at night.  I'd have told you all about those restless hours, when I have to get outside into the night air (which just smells better than the day air) and breathe and not be closeted in by my hovel.

But, my friends, that would not have been an honest representation of my night.  This is my night: darkness that threatens self-examination punctuated by the lights of my distractions.

Blue Bloods is on TV - I don't watch that show, but I'm bemused that Tom Selleck and his mustache still have it after all these years.  (The dresser the TV sits on has a story; it's a sad one.  I'll tell it sometime.)

My cellphone has nine texts. Two are from a colleague who took the time to wish me a Happy Groundhog's Day the other day. The other seven represent a conversation between me, my cousin Geoff (do not call him "Gee-off") and my best friend Dustin.  We keep trying to make plans to visit Ian up north; scheduling is too tough, so we set smaller goals like tomorrow's planned excursion to karaoke at the Gas Lite in Santa Monica.  The only person who calls my cellphone with any regularity is my AA sponsee.  Ian calls once or twice a year, when he needs my perspective on something.  I usually call him when I need to feel close to my brother, or when I start to get worried that he's performing his one-man torpedo act on his life and not telling me about it.

My computer is my primary device for connecting with the outside world - my online classes, Google Reader, and Facebook pretty much comprise the extent of my daily interactions with people.  Sometimes I lament this; mostly, I accept that I'm much more comfortable and confident when I have the time to edit my thoughts.

I'm currently re-reading The Hunt for Red October on my Kindle.  I love the Kindle - it's saved me serious packing room on long trips, and e-books are cheaper than paperbacks - but I wish it had a backlight.  Instead, I make do with my awesome Mighty Bright book light.

The little light there is from my external hard drive, where I back everything up because of the number of computers I've crashed, the papers I wrote and was actually proud of, the number of pictures I'll never see again, the videos I miss, and the entire 80GB iTunes collection I lost when my last iPod crashed because I didn't have enough space on my then-laptop's hard drive.  So yeah, this laptop's got a 250-gig hard drive, and that little light is a terabyte of extra room and comforting insurance.

Also pictured: the royal mess my room becomes when I'm working fairly often, or feeling depressed; the water bottles I keep nearby, because Sickle Cell patients thrive on staying hydrated; the ever-present McDonald's Large Coke, the TV remote, two of my six comfy pillows, and a light switch I never use.

So this is a picture of my night.  If I often think it a little pathetic, I comfort myself with the knowledge that it's also completely within my power to change; I've chosen to accept this aspect of my life for now and dedicate myself to improvement in other areas.  This doesn't cultivate comfort so much as patience, but in an impatient soul the two are nearly synonymous.