4am.

I have to work at 5 in the morning.
This sounds worse than it ends up being.
The truth is your body can get used to just about anything, which includes getting up, Monday through Friday, at an ungodly hour.
I have had this particular shift for about four months which is just enough time for me to start to appreciate the things I experience at this time of the morning. I have decided that my sudden acknowledgment for these sights mean one of two things. Either I am 1) growing up and coming to terms with the reality of a full-time job or 2) I have completely lost my mind. But, as per always I assume that the truth lies somewhere in the middle.  You see, at 4 in the morning Lincoln tends to be at its most beautiful.  I have lived in bigger cities, ones that never sleep, but Lincoln likes it slumber and it is sleeping in. The twenty minutes I spend driving to work allow me just enough time to smell the bread in the bakeries, see the dew cling to the streets, and maybe most importantly, not see a single soul. Don't get me wrong the streets here are never crowded, except, perhaps on Fall Saturdays. Lincoln is, however, the type of town that you are almost always guaranteed to run into someone you know. Which makes Lincoln both, simultaneously, wonderful and annoying. I can get ready to go out at night with the mantra, "I will not see Greg tonight, I will not see Greg tonight", running over and over in my head and undoubtedly Greg will be the first person I bump into. In this way Lincoln doesn't let you get away with anything. But, it is on those drives at 4 in the morning that I feel like I did when my father and I shared a secret as a child. I feel like I am privy to a side of this city that no one else is. I feel as if I am in on a secret that no one else knows. 
I talk almost constantly about moving again. I have gone back and forth between different cities and Lincoln for quite sometime. I move away, get bored, move back, get bored, and move again. But I always come back.

Kaera.

The almost prerequisite "Welcome" post.

Well.
The truth is I am torn.
And not in a pop-music, Natalie Imbruglia kind of way. No, my, uh, tearing (?) is not nearly as emotional. It has more to do with my unwillingness to post an official "welcome". I suppose I should take this time to introduce myself and explain exactly what it is I will be talking about. However, this is surprisingly difficult to do when you, yourself, have no idea what it is that you are doing. That isn't to say that this space has no aim; no direction. Just that that direction will be somewhat free flowing and observational.

For example, as I sit here, I am watching the second season of the X-Files. A show that, to me, was always somewhat of a mystery in my youth. I very distinctly remember my parents, my sister, and I watching these same episodes. Sitting on our, now, long forgotten gray couch, eating popcorn. But I cannot for the life of me remember any of these episodes, the experience is completely new to me. And I sure as hell don't remember Jack Black, Lucy Lu and that Dr. from Law and Order: SVU being on the show. Then again, I was eight.

What I am trying to get at here is that I am just going to talk about what happens to be on my mind. And bring light to otherwise overlooked situations that I find to be of some importance. 

Please, take the time and stop back later. God knows, it can only go up from here.