I spent the day before my birthday in Keflavik, Iceland, about 120 NM south of the Arctic Circle last year. THAT was the longest day I'd seen. The sun dipped to the horizon at about 11 pm for three hours. No nightfall, just a thin twilight. After a couple of days of flying from Texas to Norway via Halifax and Iceland, my circadian rhythm was already well out of whack; I could at least trust darkness to give it something of a re-index to get a good night's sleep.
But the damned sun just wouldn't go down, and I couldn't sleep (or maybe that was the caffeine from the rum-n-cokes I drank in Reykjavik that evening). Long story short, I spent most of that night making shadow puppets on the wall and laughing drunkenly.
I think I've said too much already. A girl can't lay down all her cards at once. Good thing my deck goes higher than 52. I wish I were a guy so I could pee anywhere I wanted while standing up. That's real power. I'd like to meet the following: My great-great grandparents, the N. Oklahoma ones, not the Swiss gentry. My woebegone friendship with Adam G. The man who's going to be with me till we're retired to the porch swing sucking on glycerine tablets, and who still reads to me at night, while I rub his feet. My ambitions with commitment and discipline. The characters from old David Lee Roth videos. Hot carb on carb action. That fucker who keeps trying to take the bbq, in a dark alley, satan's minions, lilliputians, nigglers, pifflers, piddlers, snake-oil peddlers, cripples, do-gooders, truth-seekers, sweethearts, wandering minstrels, interlopers, robber barons, saints, sinners, people who snort and guffaw, holler and whoop, tender tender people with good hearts, and all my fat little babies. I like BUTTER! And Vitamin Z!
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I spent the day before my birthday in Keflavik, Iceland, about 120 NM south of the Arctic Circle last year. THAT was the longest day I'd seen. The sun dipped to the horizon at about 11 pm for three hours. No nightfall, just a thin twilight. After a couple of days of flying from Texas to Norway via Halifax and Iceland, my circadian rhythm was already well out of whack; I could at least trust darkness to give it something of a re-index to get a good night's sleep.
But the damned sun just wouldn't go down, and I couldn't sleep (or maybe that was the caffeine from the rum-n-cokes I drank in Reykjavik that evening). Long story short, I spent most of that night making shadow puppets on the wall and laughing drunkenly.
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