varying degrees of light

I spent the last month and a half driving around these mountains, editing a manuscript, double-checking facts and phrases, searching for crowded rooms in which to get lost in, searching for quiet rooms in which to write in. In less than six hours, I hope to be driving away from the mountains, past the reaching fields of Nebraska, up the stinky 75 and to my home. It will smell like my family, though my family will not be there, and I will probably collapse. If not, if I'm still having trouble keeping my eyes shut like I am now, then we'll find something to do.

Thankfully, there are people to chat with who are wide awake on the other side of the world. It's strange to imagine talking to someone when their mental state is almost the complete opposite of yours. We reveal ourselves differently when we know we should be asleep, when we're laying in bed in a dark room. If we are sitting up, showered, made up, probably caffeinated and it's light and activity outside, maybe guarded isn't the right word to use, but we're at least distracted and moving, on a momentum for the day and looking forward. If there are birds singing there, she could probably see them outside the window. Here they are phantom noises. Songs from ghosts and shadows.

I remember when I was much younger, and felt like the worst person ever when I would fall asleep praying at night, I tried to organize my thoughts for a moment before taking that huge breath and rushing in with the Dear God... The trouble is that there isn't enough time to pray for everyone's everything and maybe that's one way I justify the lesser-winded prayers. There was a retreat some time ago, lost in the blur of how many we went to every year, how many times we got on our knees and bawled and held each other to wake up early the next day and head home in the bright sunlight, I remember the speaker for that particular year was saying something about how you pray for everything and everyone you can think of, for every little detail you release from yourself and then, when you're "clear" and kneeling there in silence, it just so happens that you can hear what the person next to you is praying about... "And you say, 'OK. I can pray about that.' " So you do, and so on and so on. It's like brainstorming... for everything in existence.

The sun is starting to rise. I can see a soft blue, the color God would assign your mom's hand on your face when you've got a fever, the most comforting color in the world, and the early workers are already on the road. I can hear them. Maybe I should just make some coffee because, dear worried reader, I can't bring my eyes to shut for more than five seconds. My therapist is about to end her day at work. The sun, the same sun, is maybe just starting to ease itself on its way down to the horizon. That means that, from here, it's about to reach over and the blue light will eventually be yellow... which really makes you wonder about white light. I mean, the idea of white balance isn't really as objective as we'd like to think. She's not a very good therapist; she just said that I'm going to die on my drive home. Actually, maybe that makes her a great therapist... or a concerned acquaintance. I don't think I will. When the caffeine wears off, the hydration and calories will help, the movement and activity. The nap(s) as well. Then the caffeine again. Tell my mother not to worry.

Am I too excited to sleep? Are the latter tracks of More Adventurous haunting me? The Safran Foer book that Jermy sent? The pile of keys that rattle around the film canister where I keep letters? That she puts on red lipstick to study for exams? Awesome. Chicks, man.

Adios.