What Else Can We Think About

All day, I carry around a perfectly good mind. It forgets why I entered a room and where I put my glasses. Then I go to bed, and suddenly it becomes a research department.

Did I answer that email? Is the back door locked? What ever happened to the fellow who sat beside me in eighth-grade science?

At two in the morning, every question demands an answer. The little worries put on their best clothes and introduce themselves as emergencies. I can spend twenty minutes planning how to fix something that won’t need fixing until next Thursday.

Sometimes I get up, write the thought down, and return to bed. In the morning, the note usually says something like “check batteries” or “ask Harold about ladder.” It seemed much more profound in the dark.

I’d prefer to sleep, of course. But if my mind insists on holding a meeting, I wish it would at least bring coffee.

The Old Curmudgeon

PS: Tomorrow’s first order of business: cancel tonight’s meeting.