The other day I was at the friend's house. She just had a baby two months ago. So I held the little boy, rocked him a bit. Sang him a song about weed (which was on TV a while ago) and looked into his dark blue eyes. He looked hungry so his mom gave me a bottle to feed him from. After sucking it all up, the pendulated from consciousness to unconsciousness until he descended into a cute, deep slumber.
That night, before heading to bed, I went out into the balcony. The air was cool. Cooler than LT 28, but it was nice because there was a breeze going. There is a mini lake outside surrounded by lawn and there are geese which roost there at night and make this groaning sound, but knowing that it makes you less scared. I stared up at the night sky, which was alluring, since this place I am at is next to the middle of nowhere. There is no light pollution and the sky is just like, well, for lack of a better analogy, shiny specks on dandruff on someone's shoulder from a shampoo commercial. Not that it isn't pretty. The analogy however, breaks down when you see planes flying across with flickering white lights.
The vastness of it all takes away alot of pretensions. When I finally curl up in bed, I realise, as much as I am educated, strong, independant, confident, eloquent ... on a vast scale, I am not really that different from the little babe I put to sleep a while ago. Still, in a way, innocent, ignorant, dependant, vulnerable. Then I slowly enter a vast unknown, darkness, the same comforting one I have entered every night for as long as I can remember.
