After a whole day of traveling, preceded by night of utter paranoia and insomnia, I managed to get myself here in middle of nowhere UK to visit my sister. On the night before the flight, as always, I could hardly sleep, constantly fretting about whether I had remembered to pack everything.
[This proved a sensible thing to do, since I actually came up with a number of items I’d forgotten, but was too cold to get out of bed and jot down, so I found myself making catchy acronyms in my head so that I would remember in the morning. It worked.]
Meanwhile, add to that a sore throat, and mild fever, and general sleeplessness and that is basically the sum of the whole of my day in transit yesterday. But here I am. I’ve already located the local bead shop and I can’t wait to check it out tomorrow. Fever or no fever.
It is 2.43 a.m. on my ibook digital clock. This is nothing new; I have been here before. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I’d say I’m here every damn night. But wait, tonight, I actually felt like The Shoemaker and the Elves, though in a nonsensical way, I am all the characters in the story!
Shoemaker by day and the elves by night, making jewelry to surprise myself in the morning (read: noon) when I wake up and have absolutely no recollection as to what I was doing in the wee hours of the morning. And then I see the bead mess, and as I sit to tidy up, I fall into proper Shoemaker role and start making more jewelry and a bigger mess.
So why go to sleep on a more regular time and deprive myself of this multi-persona? Now, if I could somehow teach myself how to make shoes too, then yes, that would be a story worth telling.