About Nothing, Really

"I remember when I used to be into nostalgia."
--Demetri Martin


It's past midnight, and I'm sleepless. I tried a couple glasses of scotch--good 15 year Glenfiddich--,but I am wide awake.

Perhaps it's because I have no work tomorrow. I often have trouble sleeping when that is the case.

More likely, it's something else, and that something else is so personal that I cannot now (if ever) put it properly into words. I'm near Coos Bay, Oregon, the city of my birth and earliest years. My memories of the place are few--headless turkeys (don't ask), sand dunes, family friends, a small house, Shakey's Pizza.

In this region I was born, and though I have no affinity for the logging business, I am nonetheless drawn to it. I'd say that there's something "spiritual" about it, but that would sound (and be) utterly stupid.

What draws me to this place, I think, is that it was here that my father brought my mother to lay root and make a life. This he started to do and would have done if he hadn't become sick with cancer and died before my sixth birthday.

Say what you want, Freudians. I like cigars too.

Maybe I'll post something in the next couple of days, but more likely I won't. It's not like I have been overwhelmed by comments to my previous posts.