Awake

It's somewhere before five in the morning, and I've been awake for hours. Last night, after a long cycle ride and an evening of food and banter with the Tuesboyz I slept like a log for ten hours; this evening I woke at two with a mind racing around like a ferret, thinking of everything yet nothing, and couldn't sleep.

I was convinced that if I got up, my life would change. One's mind plays games at this unworldly hour. So I did, craving (for some strange reason) a cup of nettle tea. I pulled on my djebellah in Rio's empty room, gazing out at the crystal black sky with Orion clear and bright. The lights of a single plane winked by in front of the stars, its contrail leaving them milkily obscured. I guess that it must have been a military jet heading for Lynham, as it was too high to be heading for Bristol and was off the flight-tracks for the London airports. Back from Afghanistan, I suppose.

While the kettle boiled for my tea, I went into the garden to piss and stare into the sky: Orion again, the Plough, Leo, Casseopeia. A shooting star: the first I have seen for years.

I returned inside, unsure of where the my future lies. My current job lies in the balance, Moonface told me that I should try to write. Perhaps it was that which led to my being awake: uncertainty about my future coupled with a suggestion of what I could do - and I remembered the germ of an idea for a story which I could tell. So I noted it down and came upstairs to write this while my drink gets cold.

Bed again, now.

:o/