It's 4:23 am in my part of the country. And I think I have just lost my nicotine battle after all. ...if only I can now find my jeans..."And so it goes."
And my car keys.

Whatever became of "The Max Immelman Memorial Ontological Army Against the Void?" We were stoned, of course. But establishment of "The Army" was our passionate and youthful scream in the night. The Democratic Convention of 1968 (police riot), Vietnam heating up, Kent State. They were passionate times.
At 50, these memories seem not unlike a personal inverted Mayan pyramid; they expand and multiply and consume a hell of a lot of closet space. Probably won't clean them out, though. Newsreels of the mind. I certainly don't want to live in the past, but at this baby-booming age, it is, well, simply unexpected to have lived this long, traveled this far. It's also either very, very late or pretty damned early to be up. Nicorette gum just doesn't cut it. Doesn't taste the same with Diet Coke. Sigh. My 5-year nicotine addiction must come to an end, being deadly and stupid as it is. I'm fighting-off running down to the convenience store to buy another pack...no, no, no. Sigh again.