I find myself wide, wide awake at 2:41am. The past two weeks on Prince Edward Island have left me with many things to consider and reflect upon, but frankly I would rather just be able to sleep tonight. Countless thoughts move through my brain at lightning speed in formations that attempt to co-ordinate with what will need to happen tomorrow, the next day, the next week and onto the March Break so that life moves seamlessly; so that I will be prepared for the occasional pedestrian not waiting for the light before he crosses.
My brain roams over the endless landscape where buffalo, personal goals, professional obligations and human desires roam. There are no antelope who play here. I consider ways to make ends meet, ideas to catalyze change and wonder what be discovered with another hour of close inspection. None of this matters at 2:41am, as I can enact zero changes at this hour, but my brain cares little for such triviality because it knows that tomorrow is an “on” day; my brain wants to be on now.
Please do not tell my brain to relax. Do not tell it to meditate. Do not dare expect me to fall asleep in a few minutes of stillness, because it just won’t happen on my brain’s watch. Like a puppy with the crazies, my brain wants to run helter-skelter with reckless abandon through the household of my past and future. The present need for sleep is superfluous compared to what I did fifteen years ago or what I might do in six days if just the right conditions wander along.
Tonight I am amused at the predicament, if only because I really don’t have to get up early tomorrow. It would be nice, but it is not necessary to get up early until Friday morning when I need to catch the 6am flight to Montreal. Montreal is another island that I love dearly, but that is of no concern tonight, unless of course my insomnia takes me back to bowling alleys where we stole a gravy jug, to the bar were Kevin stole a cow’s skull one wintry night or that martini bar where we stole giant martini glasses on the hottest night of that summer. My brain could go on…
I do wonder whether my old age will end with such a symphony of memories strung out along tethers so faint that only a cat could trace them out with the tips of his sharpest nail. Can the culmination of our lives be anything more that the moments we sneak out while no one at the bar is paying attention? Is it better to go home early with our dignity intact or to straggle on the dance floor until last call is followed by a request by all involved to leave? Are these the types of questions Macbeth asked when he is forced awake by his “heat oppress’d brain”? I suppose these are the questions that “are now the two hours traffic of our stage.” Time will tell, and time is still on my side.
I might have a stiff drink, but that would only serve to set the motion into a lopsided free for all wherein my brain would frantically attempt to make ridiculous connections in a sloppy manner. Sobriety is the only way to drive, I am afraid. Anyway, the breeze is fine, the tunes are oldies but goodies, and time is on my side until the morning comes…and the morning always comes.