Well, good night, everyone. It's barely 21h00, and I'm off to bed.
"Learning one more lousy constellation besides the Dippers and Orion" is still somewhere on my to-do list, but I'm not very knowledgeable on matters astronomical. Still, there's something about a meteor shower that piques my interest. And so, I'm getting in the car at 02h00 tomorrow, and heading off into the open prairies with a thermos, a sandwich, and Young Galaxy in the CD player, and viewing the Quadrantid Meteor Shower.
For this road trip, though, the destination is secondary. The real joy comes from being out at night, alone, adrift in a black ocean. You're warm although it's cold outside, and you've got your coffee, although the nearest Robin's Donuts is two hours away. There's absolutely nothing around you... and yet you've got yourself. These are all the little comforts made dear to you, if only because you're slightly more aware of them at that hour. It's like sensory deprivation, but with a soundtrack and snacks. The best of both worlds! (And, of course, any time spent out under the stars is always worthwhile. I'd write more about it, but I already wrote a weak-willed little sonnet about stars in Grade 10. When I manage something better, I'll let you know.)
Mind you, the far more likely scenario is that I half-consciously slam the sleep button every nine minutes for five hours. That's not what I'm hoping, so earlier this evening, I called up an old friend: Dance Dance Revolution. Before sensory deprivation, sensory overload. It's like the psychological equivalent of diving into a snowbank from the sauna. Tingly!
Wish me luck, and I'll see you tomorrow.