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Sometimes, when I am thinking about writing something in here, I think first about the title. I usually pick something that has some kind of relevance to what I am about to say, though it may not be obvious. In fact, I like titles that are somewhat offbeat. I think of them as creative, and since I like to think of myself as a creative guy (and we won't go into whether thats true or not), this is a way to manifest it.

But as I write this, at about twenty after four in the morning, I'm not feeling particularly creative. I've had a number of small crises hit me in the last week, none of which are life threatening or career threatening or anything like that, but which, cumulatively, make me feel beset on all sides. Last night, I did what I tend to do when I feel that way -- went to bed early. Way early, early enough so that I woke up around three thirty or so. My wife came out and we talked for a while, which helped a lot -- she'd known I was mad/irritated about some things, but she didn't know about half of them -- and afterwards, I just sat out here , leafing through the latest issue of Real Simple magazine, or staring out the window. I still like RS, though its clearly getting glossier as time passes -- sort of like those articles you see from time to time that show the 'before' picture of an attractive woman, and you think Wow -- and then they show the Photoshopped 'after' version, with absolutely no blemishes, longer neck, fairer skin -- and though I admit that I think Wow, again, I also think 'Android'. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind looking like the male equivalent -- they show up in those articles, too, though not with the before and after treatment -- but its not that important to me to look great (which, all things considered, is probably a good thing). I find that I don't trust pictures like that, and I tend not to trust magazines that promote it.

It is an indicator of my general sense of funk with life at the moment that before I got up I found myself lying in bed thinking that perhaps things would be better if I bought myself a really nice wool suit. Thats totally bizarre. For one, after since I outgrew my suits about five years ago, I haven't worn one at all; for another, where I work, people usually don't wear suits; and for a third, I generally don't believe that things can be made better by buying something. But there I was, thinking that. I know why, too. Its to get the sense of 'well, at least I did something to improve the situation.' Silly, I know.

My wife also suggested, incidentally, that I take some Tylenol for a recurring pain in my shoulder. Now, that's a perfectly reasonable suggestion, and I should have thought of it. But when I get in a snit, I don't think too clearly. So I did, and now I feel better. That pain is still there, but now it's muted. This is why I married her. Why she married me is still up for review.

I need a good novel. I do have three or four used books that I picked up and haven't started, but I need a really good one to lose myself in. It doesn't have to be deep, but it has to be something that will captivate me. Thats asking a lot.

Perhaps I'll go get some sleep. Of course, the mantel clock (which is actually on a table that my wife got from her grandmother; its an old, somewhat shabby table, but we like it) just chimed four thirty, and that means its just an hour and fifteen minutes till we have to wake up our daughter for her field trip -- her class is going to Philadelphia to see the King Tut exhibition -- so thats not very long. Maybe I'll stay up. Maybe -- to address one of the problems -- I'll even do the bike for a while. A short while.

And maybe I'll make a couple of calls. Wonder if the Pope's awake?