Copyright Austin Daily Herald
The other day I was feeling somewhat philosophical, largely centered around the idea of wishing sleep actually felt the same amount of time passed rather than the close your eyes and open them again in the span of what seems like minutes or seconds. It was, admittedly, something of a strange thought that really had no provocation other than the fact that I didn’t want to get out of the nice comfy bed I found myself in Saturday morning. I felt something akin to rested, but really had no desire to greet the wider reality of the day when the bed was just so much more comfortable. Or maybe I’m just not that comfortable with being an adult, which is required to do adult things. It’s unfair and I simply don’t wanna. Or maybe I’m just weird, because within the same confines of a Saturday I found myself wondering at and being annoyed at the idea that a house in the 60s somehow feels colder than an outside world in the 60s. I know we’ve all had this type of question rattle about the brain cage. You walk around the house, irritated that you’re cold, but dismayed to see that it’s like 66 or something along those lines. Meanwhile, head outside and the temperature is the same and you’re wondering why you didn’t put shorts on. At least regarding this last “deep thought,” I’ve turned it into action by actually looking something up and reading up on it. You know, that thing people absolutely will not do anymore after finding the answer they want based on a singular site they enjoy. As I’m sure all you who are smarter than I am have come to realize, a few factors based on radiant heat, humidity and air movement are working in cahoots with each other in order to prompt me to have “deep thoughts.” Of course all of this might hint to a mind that spends entirely too much time thinking on insignificant things that does nothing more than keep me up in the middle of the night, thus wasting perfectly good sleep time, which I’ve already indicated is invaluable. It also tends to point out that not being able to sleep seems to span across eons as one studies with non-sleeping eyes the ceiling of their room. Not only am I a weird thinker, but I’m also an extreme over-thinker. I spend entirely too much time second guessing myself and the world around me. I sometimes kept awake by the Vikings’ futility in most things, which is stupid because I’m not even invested that much in what that team does. I haven’t watched a single game in its entirety this year, and yet I can lay there and ponder why Minnesota sports teams are always so disappointing. It’s dumb I tell you. Of course, absolutely none of this is helped by the fact that I’m a consummate daydreamer. Always have been. In my younger days it contributed to a very distracted youngster who surprisingly never learned math, but instead grew to hate it. Feel free to follow up with any of my teachers on that. They will back up this notion because they were the ones who fought to gain my attention during a school day. This daydreamer side has carried throughout my life and continues to be a detriment to this day. This column already has been interrupted once to go online and look up reasons why it feels different in the house as opposed to outside and why I can’t sleep for what seems like hours rather than minutes. That killed a solid 10 minutes onto itself and that’s not even considering the dangers of tripping and falling into yawning and cavernous rabbit holes that could be further distracting. Or the idea of just staring off into space, controlled and run by a mind that refuses any kind of effort to remain on task. In the end, maybe it comes down to just not wanting to do stuff I have to do in order to get my adulting certificate from the Institute of Better Adulting, which if my past is any indication I’ve been skating by on a solid C-Average that somehow led to a management position and a certain level of responsibility. Pretty bold of this paper to believe I can keep the attention span necessary to continue being capable of running a news team of two. Low expectations?
