Processing

I have almost reached the degree of tiredness that would allow me to go to bed and sleep--but not quite. I was going to play a game of baseball on the Xbox but decided instead to come add to my blog. I am trying to think of the one prominent theme to my day but all i can get is little flashes of minor events. Was i even awake today? It is interesting how natural story telling is for human beings. I am just a sensory machine and yet feel compelled to make a story out of my days--out of my life. I had a begining. I am here now. And i am on my way to somewhere. I even described my life as a journey today in a conversation with my brother. But is it really? I mean is there really a plot to life? As i reflect on my day, the only things i remeber are flashes of sensory perceptions.

I awoke to the chill of the moring air coming through my bedroom window. I felt an attraction to the redheaded receptionist when i punched my time card in the clock at work. i inhaled pinesole. i nodded my head as a symbol of friendliness to a middle aged flagger woman as i passed her on the busy street on my way to the supermarket. The sky was an eeri thunder color when my neigbor and i were sitting on the porch makeing sounds with our mouths and processing the vibrations those sounds caused in our ears. and now i am typing on a blog. Just flashes, a flimsy memory... but if you were to aske me what i did today--i would tell you a damn good story.