Eddies
of events weeks and weeks away obscure my dreams as I try to imagine spending,
and enjoying, New Year’s Day, drinking and dancing, cavorting and amazing as I ‘bust
my moves’ on the dance-floor. Of course, then there is the sheer ludicrousness
of even the GLIMMER of an idea that I could bust ANYTHING on the dance-floor…unless
it be someone’s drink, or jaw (if the flailing of my arms built up the adequate
momentum and trajectory).
But
then, is it the aimless, pithy whirling of fragmentary thoughts that distracts
me from the depths of sleeping nothingness? Or could it be that time of the
year, or one of two, to be more precise, when we speed the sun forward for a
moment, turn the earth back a little, and confuse and confound our minds and
bodies with Daylight Savings. Am I merely just out of sync with me, trying to
sleep when I’d normally be trying to stay awake? Forcing myself, with
insistence and urgency, to relax and release the day that was. It’s gone now,
done and dusted, irretrievable to unwind, rewind and cast anew.
Like
a phantasm shimmering on the surface of the pond of possibilities, it taunts me
with what I have done and not done, cajoles me with the roulette wheel signpost
of choices that still lay before me, each one equally as inviting as the next
and the previous, and yet already, before they are begun, if feels like time
has already run out. Which choice, too long ago, should have been another? Why
do I feel like a passenger on a south-bound train, heading north? I can’t
remember the last station that we stopped at, nor where the next one ahead is.
Or have I passed the nearest stop as the train enters the express portion of
tonight’s timetable. One, please, to sleep!
