I started today by spending some four hours trying to
remember a couple of thoughts that came to me – or I came to them – when I woke up (kind of) in the middle of the
night. This tends to happen to me regularly and I usually I just foolishly rely on my
memory (recently I started to support it with
strange images attached to the thoughts; at the moment e.g. I’m trying to work
out what the magnificent stained-glass window, the glass of whisky being passed to
me by a deceased head-master of my grammar school and the slowly collapsing building all
were supposed to mean).
From time to time I manage to leave a trace on my
BlackBerry’s voice- recorder or scribble something on one of the pieces of
paper on which I more or less sleep. When I look at the notes in the morning,
they may be solid, valuable stuff or not quite so.
The other day, when I seemed to have lost a whole long
list of what may have been the most brilliant and highly original insights in the history of blogging - perhaps even in the history of stalking - or the cleverest one-liners and best punch lines in town, at
some point - when I was really frustrated with the blank page that my memory kept
returning to my pleas - I caught myself thinking: “I just hope it was all rubbish!”
(By the way – I failed to recall those thoughts).
