It's 3:45 a.m. I can't sleep and it just came to me that there was a time when I would often just be getting home at this time in the morning, and voluntarily. It was what my life was about then. Similar to memories of childhood when you would recall a life of playing games or shooting marbles. We always did this, we used to do this, as if it were a longstanding ritual of childhood, until you reassess and realize there were only a few years of that childhood.
The last Kingston High School Reunion I attended was his 50th, or maybe the 45th. It had been a large class of over 300, and many were notably successful and polished. But the conversations, now that children were grown and no longer connected in the same way, all revolved around the high school years, four years out of decades, reaching back to the time that seemed like it lasted forever.
Going back to bed. Will delete this in the morning, or whenever I wake up.
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