Waiting for the light to turn at a stop sign last night, it occurred to me September was almost gone. And now in its waning hour I’m thinking about how it went. Specifically, I’m thinking I need to go about October differently.

Flying to California early in the morning doesn’t augur well for my action on that thought, as it’s a repeat of what I did almost exactly one month ago. Babies don’t require or even really register my presence, I know. But the friends who bring them into this world against steep odds might not mind it.

There is something about my face that babies take a shine to. I’d love to say it’s symmetry – babies go crazy for evenly-distributed features – but I’m fairly certain it’s the contrast created by the frames of my glasses against the pale backdrop of my skin. Following those outlines helps develop visual acuity or memory or both I think.

The baby to be feted tomorrow is not yet of this world but he is already taking shape in my mind. His mother is my longest-running friend, with whom I have distant-future plans that involve rocking chairs on a porch, savory memories, being old and grey and still finding life as amusing as we ever have.

So not too far into tomorrow/October I will be westbound knitting like a madwoman to finish a small blanket, only to return the following day and start the new month in earnest.

A single-night 4000-mile round trip isn’t the most sensible notion I’ve ever come up with but it could be a pause that refreshes and gets me to a level of consciousness that will induce a craving for more than 5 hours of sleep a night.

With so much to learn and do just to keep going I have been too keyed-up to get a full night’s sleep for the past few weeks.

Each short interval spent less-than-conscious just feeds back into being more strangely wired the next day. I can operate under these conditions for a while but not much longer before the wheels start rattling too ominously to be ignored.