REMEDAY

Nothing good happens after 1 AM.

Who told me that?

Mom? Dad? Priest? Pundit?

Can't remember.

I thought said soothsayer was referring to extracurricular 'activities' that most often happen in the wee hours of the morning.

When critical faculties like reason and self-control have hit the sack.

Literally.

Turns out that tidbit of wisdom had nothing to do with bars, booze or boys. Soothsayer was referring to writing.

Rewind to 2:30 AM. I am reading the text I have written for today's blog.

My eyes are pasty. My head is pounding. I WANT TO GO TO BED.

The cursor is hovering over the "Publish" tag. I am about to click, when Soothsayer's words come back to haunt me.

Nothing good happens after 1 AM.

"Like this blog," I think. 

It's terrible.

Disjointed.  Emotional. Philosophical meanderings trending toward bloviation (like this sentence).

Wee hours of the morning musings that Readers will:

1. Read.

2. Read between the lines.

3. Refer to as they collect spare change for a Writer who needs a shrink.

Fact. This morning's 2 AM blog began with:

You noticed.  Were oblivious.

Felt it. Didn't. 

Needed more. Wanted less.

Told the truth. Shouldn't have.

Asked the question. Changed the topic.

Worked to keep it going.  Wouldn't make the effort.

Stepped up. Moved on.

Wrong time. Right companion.  

Vice versa.

BLOG ASIDE.  Reader is now expecting a blog about Past Relationships, right? Something juicy! Fun! Just wait for the next few sentences:

The anthology of a life is defined by character. And characters.

Ours. And those we meet through decades of experience. And experiences.

Birthdays demand that we pull our collected works off memory's shelf.  

Shuffle through chapters already written. Scribble across a blank page. 

Record the surprises that outnumber candles poked into cake: An extended family gathers, on a school night.  In-laws send verse that speaks from, and to, the heart. Gal pal writes of long-ago birthdays at beaches and bars. Flowers, bold and beautiful, arrive with keepsake notes from treasured friends. Greetings from far-away relatives, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances pop-up on screens; click after click a reminder that each encounter chronicled in a life matters - in inexplicable ways.

BLOG ASIDE.  The juicy possibility of old flames has been ditched for birthday surprises. It's 2 AM, and I am immersed in two blogs (and spending way too much time deciding if candles are poked into a cake, plunged, or pushed into it. Or do they simply protrude from it?)

But wait, it gets better. My wee hour reflection continues, and I am leading Reader into the darkest of dark places: Guilt-land. The black hole that sucks up all energy, thought, and reason. Watch how I consider the actions of those who celebrated my birthday - and wonder "Have I given as much as I have received?"

Encounters.  Did I  pay attention? Listen. Care. Notice. Help. Try.

Enough?

Was I present?

Enough?

Because they mattered.  As did all the characters that time, or timing, relegated to anthology chapters long ago written and closed.

BLOG ASIDE.   Reader begins collecting dollar bills for Dr. Shrink, as I introduce yet another blog topic (and even more disturbing black hole): The Valley of What-Ifs.  The place where we tuck individuals, ambitions, hopes and dreams, once they are loved and lost, forgotten, or discarded. 

I Told You it was terrible.

Unfixable. 2:40 AM, I head to bed, accepting defeat rather than pushing 'Publish".

Fast forward. A few short hours. The light of the noonday sun has made sense of my wee hour musings.

Past Relationships, Birthdays, Guilt-land, and the Valley of What-Ifs are indeed linked. 

Because connections, once made,  remain - even if the bond is severed.

Birthdays allow us to celebrate our many connections, fixed across time and space. But they also remind us of our many connections that were somehow crossed.

Guilt-land and The Valley of What-Ifs just might disappear if we discovered a way to celebrate those connections that were crossed.

Perhaps a yearly "Make it Right" day.  "Rectify-Day."  "Remedy-day." 

Remeday.

A holiday of sorts where we Catch Up. Patch Up. Shout Out, "You made a difference in my life."

"I was an idiot. And I regret it."

"I loved you. And our time together."

Remeday. 

It has potential, don't you think? 

It's 6 pm, dear Reader. I am off to scribble a line of Remeday greeting cards.

Better get to it before the clock strikes One.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Poor August needs a holiday. Remeday, it is!