Philosophy? No. Poetry? Probably not tonight. Commentary on some literary experience or another? I'm tired. I have a stack of poetry books, essay compilations, and classics arrayed around my bed, and I don't even have the vitality for tasting them. Mentally, I desperately want to dive into Maya Angelou's poetry, or Watership Down's articulate descriptions of rabbit's scampering about the wilderness in search of home. I crave Keat's or Blake's romanticism and Gaiman's magnificent mythology, but my physical energy is ghastly low.
How am I still writing this?
I know not.
Today, I finished wedding shopping for one of my best friends' weddings. That exhausted me. Later, I played competitive video games (lame, huh?), and after several punishing losses, we managed to scrape together a win after a tremendously drawn out game (an hour and a half: the others were all around 30 minutes). Afterwards, I didn't get dinner until almost nine, and we ate celebratory steaks. I was in "tired coma" before the steak, which afterwards only exacerbated my coma-condition; postprandial somnolence crashed into my brain like a truck.
Still, the day was a success: bananagrams, burritos, outdoor mall shopping, breathing in the sun, driving with windows down, resting, chatting with good friends, competing with friends, reading, writing, dreaming, watching the hillsides roll by and driving along the Shins road into the valley. Summertime, the living's easy.
I hope everyone has had spectacular days. I'm praying for those of you that have not.
Enjoy the sun, enjoy the stars, dream yourself into mythical days.
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