fuddled? befuddled? sluggish? comatose? dopey? why am I driving?
If there was a breathalyzer for measuring the level of sleep in my bloodstream and if there was a legal limit to how much sleep could be measured in my bloodstream I would be in trouble.
I come out of weekend of sleeping until 7AM or 8AM somewhat refreshed and recharged.
By Thursday morning, after 4 days of getting up at 5:15AM, my brain is so clogged with sleep it hurts.
All the little tricks, cooler to colder water in the shower, bottomless cup of coffee and not sitting after I get downstairs, I still back the car out of the garage in a mild daze.
Or a mild haze.
Or a hazy daze.
Am I fuddled?
Or am I befuddled?
Both at the same time.
Unable to think clearly, confused or stupefied?
The google says that fuddle is used to describe someone in this state due to drink.
I am not sure what the difference in those things mean exactly but I am sure my good friends Chesley McNeil at WXIA or George Lessens at WZZM could explain it.
Here in Atlanta for December 17, there is 10 hours and 50 minutes of visible light.
Further up the globe in Grand Rapids, there is 10 hours and 5 minutes of visible light.
There is more light down here in the south.
But if you compare the time from sunset to astronomical twilight, Grand Rapids comes out on top with a total of 103 minutes of total twilight compared to Atlanta’s 90 minutes.
We noticed this right away after we moved down here.
The sun comes up fast.
The sun goes down fast.
I look out the window in the evening and think we have time for a walk while it is still light.
By the time we get outside, it is full dark.
Not much color to dark.
Most likely if you were looking for a color based adjective for night time, the word you come up with is inky.
But daylight.
I have as much ability in art as I do in music.
I can look and listen.
I look at the colors of the day.
Pastels done in sidewalk chalk to capture the powdery pinks and blues of morning.
The strict separation of colors in oils for the full sun of noon.
Spreading wet watercolors on a damp piece of paper for the evening.
Alice Walker writes, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”
I am not going to stop my car and get out and look at the colors in the sky.
I am not going to get out my phone and take a picture of the sky (I know it wouldn’t work anyway).
But I think God would be pissed off if I, at the very least, didn’t notice the show in the sky.
Saturdays’ blankets warm and cozy, coffee calls such choice to start day
Owen Johnson writes in “The Lawrenceville Stories,” At seven o’clock every morning the rising bell fills the air with its clamor from the belfry of the old gymnasium, but no one rises. There is half an hour until the gong sounds for breakfast, a long delcious half hour – the best half hour of the day or night to prolong under the covers.
It was raining early this morning.
Warm bed and rain on the roof.
Pure luxury.
Maybe the pureist of luxury in its simple pleasure.
Mr. Faulkner wrote, “How often have Ι lain beneath rain on a strange roof thinking of home.”
All good until thoughts turn to coffee.
I could put the coffee maker up in the bedroom.
At least I think could get away with that.
But then I would need someone to …
That’s a slippery slope all of a sudden.
Stay with just being warm in bed with nothing to do.
No Haiku For You 