Crime, an evil instigator of early morning rational thought

The tired is sitting on my eyes. It oozed out and solidified and now my eyes are in constant stupor. Glassy, unfocused, and rolling whither they will.

I was awakened at three this morning. Very timely indeed. Someone broke windows somewhere so what was heard was the smashing of the glass, the yelling, and the faint pulsing alarm. It wasn't nearly as classy as a 1930's black and white car chase movie, nor a 1950's Western bank robbery.

After the statements and the descriptions and a potent cup of chamomile tea, I attempted to sleep. And there wasn’t any to be had. As I lay on my back I thought of myself – and my perception of myself. I thought it was very strange that for a history student, I am not a bit grounded in the feelings and actions of my ancestors.

I don’t have small idols to worship – carved with a few specks of old paint, I have only photographs dating 4 generations. I don’t have incantations, spirit guides, or a familial god. Only an internal understanding of something personal and baseless.

I am almost truly unfamiliar with the life paths and discussions of my grandparents because they were older and sometimes altered. Time eats brains. Mostly I remember a comfortable feeling, a few moral childish lessons and PG13 stories. Quips meant to accompany a lesson.

And so historically – all that remains are a few facts. I hold these facts – well, as factual as any fact can be. (All of history is up for a debate at all points in time, even philosophically if we actually exist and if time is a forward thinking line.) So somewhere in my “past” there were things that “happened” and my family was seemingly good. And these small facts, dating only until 1776, are probably equally as tangible as the few artifacts I hold deemed historically relevant.

And I know that I am consistently unaware of all of it.

I wonder if the person who smashed the windows and stole feels grounded in any kind of ancestral or historical ties. Does amorality denote a lack of faith or tradition? Sometimes, in bad times, it means need and it is an imperative occurrence. But is duty-bound honourability a sign of respect for the past, or is it a sign of a singular person acting with a singular conscience?

I lay awake wondering about my place in history – what it would feel like to always be aware, to be informed. It was either the beginning of the dream or an answer to my question when my eyes fell back into my skull, and plunged down – unfortunately like gravity but they never hit matter. They didn’t split the earth to the billion degree core, they went backwards from my head, and my head, in a dream, is not necessarily pointing to anything that was ever real or law.

Things were moving so fast. Things as in: the space in the tunnels running backwards. Like watching the image of a train running by at a singular point. Motion sickness ensued; I woke up, and reeled for the rest of the night.

The point of this story is that one should not – in the very least – commit a loud crime while another is sleeping. A: I’m going to call the cops you jerk and B: The brakes on my brain are non operational at wee hours and you get a blog entry like this.