It's Four in the Morning

"Its four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New york is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton street all through the evening."

The words of Leonard Cohen echo in my head as I lie in bed. I am wide awake, the facts, thoughts, and emotions of the previous day race through my nervous system like the Grand Prix.

It's hormonal, I know, and I get up to make some warm milk. I hope that it will calm me down, my heart racing in my chest. I have on light silk pajamas with a thin cotton robe, far too diaphanous to be wearing on a cold December night. But it feels like the tropics, and my hair sticks to my face.

I decide to check my email even though research shows that the computer screen, like a TV screen, can interrupt one's sleep. How much more wrecked can it get tonight?

There are no emails, not even one for Viagra or a breast enhancement miracle. I feel insignificant, and the world of cyber info courses around me and leaves me alone, too alone with my thoughts.

Thoughts of death, thoughts of a new life, which go hand in hand in this fragile world. I have much to think about, much to face, and lying awake don't help me be very Zen about it.

But the milk is all finished, and I'm getting colder
my little white bathrobe slips from my shoulder,
yes New York is cold but it could be much worse,
and I'm ending the blog - like L.Cohens verse.......P Gibbons

(couldn't resist ending a la Cohen....)