Beware of thoughts that come in the night. They aren’t turned properly; they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, deriving from the most remote of sources.

— William Least Heat Moon, Blue Highways (opening lines)

I should be in bed now – it’s nearing 1am and it’s been a long week, but the later it gets, the more thoughts that come.

Untuned or not.

It’s a cerebral version of Joyce’s or Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness prose without the prose.

It’s the actual stream-of-consciousness, but focused. Zoned in.

It’s addictive, which is why I’m passing up sleep for a strange mix of tickler entries, code bug fixes and mentally revisiting long-ignored possibilities.

I’m going to hate myself tomorrow, but tonight is “what if?…” night.

Indulge me.