J minus five days

" The apostle John wrote that Jesus loved his disciples to the last. To the last! When I read those words I pause breathlessly, and then I wonder: to the last...what?
If in those dwindling hours He loved them with all the blood in His beating heart, to the last marrow of His bones, then He loved them.
If He loved them in the walk through the violent, throbbing crowds, when he was stretched out as a curse on two sticks, chest heaving through the darkest noon, while His so-called friends hid from His face, then He loved them.
And if He loved them to the very last of Himself, to the last fiber of His humanity, unto death, then He loved them, to the last.
>INSERT SOMETHING ABOUT CAMERON AND LYDIA"

-the failed plans for a best man's speech at my brother's wedding, written at about 2AM in the morning.
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Let me just say that while 2AM was the Witching Hour for Shakespeare, when creepy crawly things came out to land in the giant cauldrons of pointy-hatted neer-do-wells, for me it is the time when I come up with my most brilliant and creative ideas. 2AM is also about a half hour after I start trying to go to sleep.

Are you ever faced with the same dilemma? You have two choices: follow the nagging part of your brain which wants you to write down what, to you, seems like an excellent idea; on the other hand, you convince yourself that the brilliant idea will make you lose too much sleep, and vow to yourself that you will remember it in the morning.

Either way, the idea turns out to vault far short of the pole of 'Absolutely Great Idea,' landing in the sandpit of 'Misplaced Judgment.' For examples of misplaced judgment, I refer you to the vast graveyard of story ideas that, because they are so brainlessly dumb, keep stubbornly limping around to reach their undead appendages into my brain, time and time again. This happens usually at the Witching Hour of 2AM---who is responsible for this, anyway?

The vast graveyard:
-an economist who goes to church --and never tithes!
-an Indian grad assistant who kills his professor and steals a fusion reactor
-the story of a guy who doesn't leave the house
-the other one that's on the tip of my tongue because I didn't write it down

What is truly sickening is that two members of the undead horde mentioned above actually became stories. I guess it could be worse. I could be the cartoonist of Garfield. I could write a blog post which explains nothing about the blog title or why I'm going to Jordan for about half a year. It's all pretty dang crazy, after all. There's plenty right there to talk about.

Jordan is in five days. I've got 2 days before I'm gone from Arkansas. This is the best I can come up with for a first post? BRRAAINSS! BRAAAAAIIIINS!! AGHGHGLGLLLGHGLGL!

yeah, really: don't read this. It's an hour short of 2AM, anyway.