I do have some puttery thoughts about my current rereading of Richard Ford's The Sportswriter, but I think that both you and my thoughts would be better served by an actual night's sleep.
I admit that I did sleep a little last night; but when I did, I repetitively dream-fingered the fiddle part of a song that I don't even like.
There ought to be a special word for that kind of nonsleeping sleep.
Now I must go and pretend to care about the Superbowl. Not that anyone will be fooled. Not that anyone else in this house cares about the Superbowl except for Paul, who is indifferent to this particular sport except during moments of televised pomp and splendor. He is a sucker for the noble music that accompanies championship games. He also seems to feel the need to make a Superbowl cake, which also means that I'll have to step in as Coach, which also means that I won't be taking a nap anytime soon.
4 comments:
Thunder and lightning kept me awake. I think you are experiencing "The Semi-wired mind"
"Semi-wired" sounds like one of those electrical systems that mice have chewed through. Which is accurate.
What is the name of the unfavored song you obsessively fiddled as a Midwinter Night's Dream?
It's a Dierks Bentley tune called "Fiddlin Around." The production style of mainstream radio country tends to drive me nuts, but I'm working on the fiddle breaks at the request of a very good local musician who wants to do it as an acoustic trio. I'm sure the stripped-down approach will improve it. Nonetheless, the radio version is infiltrating my dreams.
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