Memo to self – when you awake at 3 a.m., just in time for the voice on the computer to say, “It’s 3 a.m.,” when it dawns that your airbed has collapsed under you, that moving the room round during the day meant the bed was going to be up against the heater you forgot to turn off and the piece-de-resistance – when you forgot to switch off the Doctor Who Series 6 final disc as you fall asleep and some sort of nightmare wakes you, with people screaming and the Silence wreaking havoc, with the Doctor being shot multiple times, when everyone is running around with eyepatches on, when Amy Pond is talking in the garden to her daughter many years older than her, then a reality check is needed.
And the question you must never ask, the question you must always evade reality for and live in a vague sort of fantasy or nightmare world in which each day you get older, in order to escape – the question you must never ask yourself is, “Why?” Or its sister question, “What next?” Or, “For how long?”
Because the answer is going to disappoint. As Ernest discovered when he asked for whom the bell tolls.
Better instead to escape into cyber-reality and post this to you out there in the various parts of the world, never questioning how that is possible in the first place nor for what purpose the net was created. And if the answers to those questions involve nightmares as you’re forced to confront the reality of your life to this point, perhaps it’s better to remain in that fantasy world of cyber-reality, like some sort of self-affirmation in Second Life avatars.
Or better still, create your own reality. Or even weirder – realize you’re actually being moved along by some force outside your comprehension and like the Blues Brothers, that force has you on some mission you’re only vaguely aware of.
These are good questions at 3.29 a.m., whilst making mental notes: “Go to bank, buy new bed today, buy in the week’s food, hope the rain stops beating on the window panes long enough for some building to get done, should one make a coffee or try for sleep on an exploded bed?
Just the sort of everyday thing I’m sure all you good people out there [or the 20% or so who still visit] would probably confront most nights of the week. Hope you slept well. Of course, in Australia or America, the question is sort of irrelevant, is it not?
Or the last of that wine.