And the Egyptian wing was never secret...

Thoughts while lying in bed this morning:

- "It's a good thing that childhood friend of mine doesn't have cancer and I'm not going to fall in love with him and have lots of sex in the secret Egyptian wing of our house."
- "The coffee maker is waking me up now? The coffee maker? It is official: I will never get a full night's sleep in this house."
- "Maybe the reason our culture is so screwed up is because of the word 'I'. Our word for the self is always solitary and capitalized. I is important and I is isolated. Of course, I only know how to say I in three other languages, so maybe English is not such an anomaly."
- "SHIT! I forgot to let the dog out last night. Wait, no. I am housesitting today, not yesterday."
- "I am never going to get this paper done. Never. There is not even a faint glimmer of hope."
- "Why was I dreaming about that kid anyway?"
- "If I keep moving my foot, the cat might attack it. Yep."
- "Okay. Time to get up and start working on that paper. Or get breakfast."

The Way My Mind Works in the Morning

Time: 8:50 AM
Setting: In my bed. In my mind.

- Get up! Get up! Get up!
- Yeah, yeah.
- If you want to get up, you'd better do it now, before the alarm goes off again.
- I don't want to get up. You must be thinking of someone else.

In other news...
Everyone is going to fun and exotic places but me. EVERYONE.

Nothing like Thinking in the Morning...

(After hitting my alarm for about 45 minutes)
Thought 1: You have to get up. If nothing else, you need to pee.
(pause)
Thought 2: It will view this as a victory.

It? The alarm clock.

I have no title for this blog.

I have stumbled into a morning where commonplace thinking becomes very difficult (after all, it just took me three tries to type 'stumbled'- forgive all typos in this entry).

For example: this morning's shower. I had to think very hard about whether or not I was wearing any clothes. While standing under the water, I still was not fully convinced that I wasn't. Then, I had the following mental dialogue: "Is this shampoo or conditioner? Shampoo or conditioner? The bottle says conditioner... hmmm...Conditioner." Then my glance fell on the face wash, and I thought: "F--- you, face wash!" The face wash, I assure you, had done nothing to warrant such a sound mental thrashing. It was merely sitting on the side of the tub, being face wash (originally typed: 'fash').

I know I had a point with this blog. It is eluding me.

Hmmm...

Anyway, last night at eleven o'clock, I decided that the paper I had been writing about Wallace Stevens for two weeks was unusually bad. I decided to write a paper about Robert Frost instead.

Usually this kind of mania deserts me after half a page and I return to finish the original paper.

By 2 AM, I had four pages and by 5 AM, I was rounding out eleven. All that remains now is a few finishing touches on a paper leaps and bounds above the original Stevens concept.

Paper must be turned in at six-thirty. I must go to work now. Head is a foggy, foggy mess.