Driving down the 101 from San Francisco to Los Angeles last night I had time for a lot of thinking. There were thoughts of mortality, of history, of love and loss, of music and friendship. There were thoughts about thoughts. And thoughts about those thoughts.
(Yes I could have taken the 5. Not as reflective.)
Driving past Montecito I saw three shimmering night clouds of smoke, left over from last week's now-extinguished fire. It was creepy - the remnants of a fire that destroyed many homes on a beautiful hillside, one that I've driven through a couple of times with a couple of different people, under a few different circumstances. The clouds were beautiful even if the fire wasn't. I'm sure in the daytime nothing was beautiful. But that's why I drive at night.
Today I'm tired and still reflective. Wired from the caffeine I drank to keep me awake from the drive, I watched two episodes of Entourage after arriving home at 1:00. After a weekend in which the idle times between brunches and other outings were filled with watching eight episodes of True Blood, I needed to see something not about vampires, about people grounded in "reality" to relax my racing mind. Some time before the second absurd episode ended but after the conflict was established, I fell asleep. I slept soundly, only to wake up an hour late. I didn't hear the alarm.
Now it's 1:00 in the afternoon and I haven't really said anything of substance here. I need a snack before the next meeting. Perhaps some Red Mango.
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