To Watch Myself Talking

You turn at two.  You roll at four and consider your phone that tells you it’s 4:10AM now.  It’s only been a paltry four hours since you lay your ass down to sleep.  Up late a dinner, you now recollect that had more than one scotch.   Mini sleep.  Toss.  Toss.  Turn.  And it’s only twenty-two minutes more you have before you’ll need to rise up off this bed. 

Not well rested.  Re.   Res.  Something other than “rested.”  Everything will need to be expedited.  A mini-read of the NYT and Washington Post.  No time to translate and savor a Chinese article.  No need to reply to these emails.  We won’t be biking to the gym this morning.  You better go get your shower done and phone this cab you’re calling. 

The car will be here in seven minutes.  That’s not bad.  I’ve more than one friend who’s complained that DiDi ain’t what it used to be.  But this guy is at-the-ready.  He calls me.  I tell him the number of my house.  He accepts that and gets on with driving over.  Then I call the front gate to notify them I should let someone in if they say the magic numbers. 

“Hey, they won’t let me in.” “What number did you tell them?”  “one-two-zero-seven”  “That explains a lot, as that’s not the number I told you when I called.  Yes, I know the GPS says something different, that’s why I called you to tell you the magic number.”  “OK, OK, OK.”

Riding out I have approximately four-minutes to fuddle for my head set and cut and paste the link and enter the code number so I can join my 5:00AM call.  "Yes. Hi. It’s me."  One person isn’t on yet but at 5:05:AM I begin my intro with energy and clarity that surprises myself as its very early and though I’m groggy these themes are very familiar and I begin to watch myself talking and engage in a meta discussion, looking down on my verbose little summary of things. 

Safely on the plane I have a good book and a belly full of espresso.  And none of it matters.  I nod and nod again, cracking my neck, the way you see people in the other seats sometimes do.  I’ve the furthest seat back in this plane with two other guys beside me who are no doubt disappointed to have big old me beside them. This flight drags.  I can feel it.  I know the rhythm of a two-hour flight.  We must be circling around up above Hangzhou in a holding-pattern.  I keep dozing off so perhaps it’s just these visitations to nod that make it seem asynchronous.

Wednesday, 01/16/19