And the man seems wise

I've had several ideas for this blog. Earlier this week I was thinking about Mr. Sting. . . Mr. B Sting and his whole family of eight, and then Mr. Vee. . . Mr. Poison I. Vee who moved in when the Stings were leaving. Then on the way home tonight I was thinking about how to write about this weekend, how I wondered if the guy appreciated it when I moved over to the LEFT lane to let him pass me 'cause I figured out he was exiting in half a mile but wanted to go faster than I was, and then how I thought that maybe I wasn't that smart and considerate, and maybe I was actually dumb for not doing that right away, and how I wondered about that, and how another time I was lamenting how so many people live their lives so poorly in various ways, and I felt sad for all the thoughtless actions and missed possibilities that roll on every minute. I was thinking about how varied this weekend was, from the ride up with Kayte Bell to the ride home with a tiny spare tire doing 57 miles an hour and wincing at every bump. I was thinking about how I was feeling the end-of-trip sadness again after not feeling it for a very long time, but how it was half sadness and distaste for the dorm life I left Daniel in at Grove City. I was thinking about how the poison ivy was one of those things that's constant through a whole tumultuous weekend, and unpleasant, but not miserableifying, but also genuinely a pain and a downer and never ever going away during the whole time, but I was still quite happy and don't let this make you think I had a lousy weekend.

I think those were mostly the thoughts I had, and I'll stop there because I'm starting to come up with new thoughts now, and the point of this is to say that I'm NOT going to write out the weekend tonight because it's 12:30 and though I would be quite happy and satisfied to have the blog post written, I just can't stick another late late night to myself, being as I am still not 100% recovered from this nagging cold, and realizing as I am more and more that one must tame the wildness of ideas with the responsibilities of life. (hence the title of this post)

That paragraph was--unintentionally--one sentence!
My whole right arm is on fire with ye olde poison ivy.

"All the good monsters rattle their chains
And dance around the open flames
They make a lot of empty noise."
--"Good Monsters," from Good Monsters by Jars of Clay

As I said to Jonathan upstairs,

'nite dude!

--Clear Ambassador