February 12

Today a day of public pageantry and ritual. A great day in sport, to be sure, wherein the participants rage at each other on the field, and the celebrants consume food and media indiscriminately. But equally, for those not given to the game, a time for rituals of engagement in the erstwhile busy and often oversubscribed city and its infrastructure. A day to hoist your child above your head on the playground, a day to run through the public parks with abandon, a day, in the ultimate assessment, to give to the gods some portion of your communal pleasure. 

February 8

Settling into my chair and likely the first sleep of the evening. This is an old practice, I've read, dating back at least to medieval Europe (is it a healthy one for me, a "guy who goes on his computer all day" for work, not a worker of the land?). I'll drift off as soon as the cognitive churn abates. At around 2 in the morning, I'll wake and realize I'm not where I'm meant to be, ergonomically or domestically, then move to the bed. The cognition will start again, and I'm sure I'll regard my phone and perhaps read war headlines, but will drift off again within the hour, whatever thoughts remaining transitioning to handlers of the unconscious whose machinations I may or may not remember in the morning.