City of Legends

Got nowhere on the CD last night. Voice crapped out on me…I sound like I am gargling. Frustrating.

My daughter, Peri, is coming in for the Inauguration. I will be pleased to see her and her husband, Brian. He is the guy I would’ve picked for her if I had been given the choice.

My memory has been playing tricks on me, perhaps due to exhaustion. I am remembering some details with amazing clarity, while other things keep consistently coming lose (when I can’t recall Kenneth Branagh’s name during a discussion of film adaptations of Shakespeare, that bothers me). Maybe I am just getting old. Maybe I am trapped in a plum-coloured box and the sameness of it all is slowly corroding me?

And what, in my deep recesses of preconscious thought, does a plum-coloured box signify? Death? Life? Sex? Or is a plum-coloured box just a plum-coloured box?

I think I think too much about whether or not I think too much about things I think too much about.

My inner child is holding his breath until I shut up.