December 28, 2004  Tuesday

I must break with the summation of the recent past to write of the present.  How pleased I had once been at my telling of this story; how did I ever think it was complete?  Now these pages feel like merely the bare bones, a whisper of what has transpired.  At times, when I used to write prodigiously, I would record a single day in as near a complete record as I could manage.  I will write about today to in such a way, to give this story much-needed dimension.

My small black alarm brought me out of a dream this morning at a quarter after four.  I am always quick to turn it off as quickly as possibly, hopefully in a few seconds, as to not bother those around me.  I have yet to find an adequate reason for what I am about to say, but it seems that no matter how much I sleep onboard I cannot help but be tired in the morning.  Today was no exception as I parted the curtains and prepared to lower myself from my top rack (By the way, I do not like using the term “rack,” as it brings to mind the Medieval torture device, so I commonly refer to it simply as a bed, which sounds so much more inviting).  Perhaps it is the size–rather small and confining, but soft all the same, and I rather enjoy use if a sleeping bag.  Whatever the case, it was time to face a new day.