My mom would stay awake. Long after dad had gone to sleep, getting ready for the next day of his marathon commute, mom would be awake, watching TV. Eventually she didn't try to get me to go back to sleep. And so I've been most of my life. A few times I've regularly gotten to bed early. Lately I'm awake after midnight. I've no explanation.
Spending too much time writing here or on facebook or reading. When I was in seminary, I would leave my room and walk around campus. What a joy it was to be on a campus again. I haunted halls and the lawns. I would sit on a bench outside of the Harrington Center and listen to the train or to the owls or to the sprinklers. I might be painting. I might be reading. I might draw on some odd blackboard.
I know this drove the cleaning staff nuts - or was at least annoying. They'd just cleaned this board and here I was - covering it with erasures.
So Jeremy told me to write. It seems I must have some distillation of theology and creativity at hand, ready to emerge on the page, to be the book people carry in their back packs to the coffee shop or to the beach.
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