Owenskies Blog

Inside the Life Of

11:30 AM, November 9, 2007 .. Link

Last night, I finished three sandwiches, three cups of tea, and four articles. I work late at night now, past my bed time, past the time I crammed on college papers, past the time go home for night outs. Tonight, I’m on my first cup of coffee and on the first blog write-up for the evening.

There is nothing to write about, my mind is blank and my fingers are numb. It always feels this way at first, staring at the empty white computer screen sneering at either my laziness or incompetence. I always wrote late at night, when the world is dead and deserted. I spend the first hours courting the muses, writing a few sentences, then resting, eating, and cramming the rest before the crack of dawn.

It’s the dead of the night, I am in a different place, but everything feels the same. The erratic coughing of the air-conditioner is gone now, but I find myself rekindling old friendships with the bored hum of the fluorescent light. They were my late-night dorm room companions a lifetime ago. It still feels like a secret life, a quiet communion between my thoughts, the computer screen, and the whispering of the lights.

It’s the dead of the night, and I remember forgetting the time during movie dates and begging the dorm directress for curfew extensions. I remember the late night conversations with my roommate, a genius with glasses as thick as my arm. We used to gossip about philosophers and life, as if they were the mysterious next door neighbor. I remember midnight parties at the roof deck, drinking the night away while waiting for stars to fall down.

It’s the dead of the night, the best time for lying down and indulging in nostalgia. No, forget nostalgia. It is pointless poster printing a perfect life, glossy, full-colored but empty. It’s the dead of the night and past the time of dreaming.

It’s the dead of the night, it’s time to grab another cup of coffee, a bite of sandwich and come back for a few more sentences. I have nothing left to say, but the deadline is threateningly close. I spin my chair hoping to remember something wise or witty to say. I wrack my brains, only I feel my eyelids getting heavier, and heavier, and heavier.

It’s the dead of the night, and I should be sleeping. And my thoughts are slipping. What was I talking about? Hmmm.Oh yeah, poster printing.

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