The Meanderer

It's really something, the way the time gets away from you. Many is the night that I have realized at some point that I said farewell to my friends (after the end of the night's fun) some three hours ago. They say that time flies when you're having fun, but they neglected to mention how it does likewise when you're engaged in a lot of rather frivolous activity. As a matter of fact, I am writing this amidst a lot of that very thing.

I go about every day with the best of intentions, and sometimes in totally good faith. I badly would like to be someone who habitually gets up early and goes to bed likewise, but I have always been someone who hold on with a death grip to whatever state of consciousness that he has at the moment. When I sleep, I want to sleep forever, and I am equally committed to remaining awake at the other end of things. It's a bad habit.

Anyway, I was saying how the night passes. I'll be doing something with a friend, having deferred to afterwards something important that I could be bothered to do all day. When I'm done with the friend, I'll eat something and suddenly develop a fervent interest in reading a lot of brief news articles of uneven true importance. By the time I've begun to even think of doing the things I have to do before I sleep, it's something like 2 AM.

Of course I work rather inefficiently once I get to that point. I'm tired, impatient to be done with it and undoubtedly somewhat the worse for wear as a consequence of some indulgence or another. I could be a lot more productive if I could commit to a strict regimen of rest, good dieting and Puritanical work ethic. That end of it sounds good, naturally, but then who would want to be party to any creative expression of mine if I were so clean cut? Nobody I'd want any part of.