I love the light this time of day

I woke at 3:00 in the afternoon feeling full and rested, glad to be awake, like my dreams were restless -- some unnamed apocalypse. The sky is blue through the window, intersected by the gray storage building on the corner, the largest building for blocks, golden in the late afternoon sun.

I stay in my room for an hour or so checking up on what is what, social networking sites and the like.

Thirsty, I mosey out into the cold apartment (I have a small heater running in my room). I check in with the roommates, catch them up on the show last night. It kept me out until 4:30AM, but oddly, not drinking. We failed to catch the 2AM beer call because we were too caught up in the barrage of comedic bits and commentary that plague us Upright personalities. Jefferson was skateboarding and Mitchell pee’d his name on the wall. After 2, liquor was the only resort. I declined, remembering last summer when my father found me sleeping at a card table. After a certain hour, whiskey is masochism. And, some nights you just want to make it to your own bed, your own heater purring in the corner.

Just now I’m remembering that dream that woke me. I'll spare you the account, since I've audibly objected on more than one occasion when even dear friends begin describing their dreams.  No, dreams belong to the dreamer, terribly fragile things that they are, all but falling apart when organized or retold.  Best leave those dreams where I found them, Over There, before I breached, insulated from my conscious mind mucking about, trampling intuition with interpretation.

The light has changed -- Still the faint golden glow, but a moment earlier, my room was lit like a Christmas ornament by nothing but the low and golden California sun in December.