The frame I'm in

It seems like a while since my insomnia has coincided with a desire to record my thoughts. A combination of overeating (Indian), caffeine (Hush in Fremantle) and atmospheric disturbance. The lightning has been multifocal and the thunder like a ten pin bowlers strike in reverse. An interrupted peel of applause followed by a long rolling rumble. Like my study chair across floorboards. That's the frame I'm in. . .

Later today of course it will be a struggle at work. My concentration will wander. Insomnia and school holidays at home will do that. . . If I were elsewhere and free of work, my mind would be intent on absorbing the new and old. I would write (more) and reflect, but I'm at home and it is my far away siblings and in-laws who have returned home. The recent days have been a combination of gluttony, chaos and the familiar.

There has been even more wine consumed than usual, but I've been inattentive. My fleeting focus is enough only to register that the liquid I'm drinking is vinous and of moderate scent, medium texture and minimal impact. Perhaps this is how a wine show judge feels after a few days of speed tasting. That's the frame I'm in. . .

To compensate and protect the precious (bottles) from my hopefully temporary lack of concentration I'm drinking what I already know. . . The Bindi Original seems less remarkable, while the Tyrrell's Johnno remains light and fluffy, but strangely less electric. . .

Image: A frame I constructed a few days ago from 2x4. It will eventually form a block to lift a small painting. . . I wish it were perfectly rectangular.