Falling asleep is my time of reckoning. In all its forms and facets. I often start with projections. Ideas of the future and things I wish for. These are not grand scenarios, but rather small things I hope to do. Like listening to my favourite music album the next day or going to a great exhibitions. It involves other people too. I dream of gestures and words I hope to come across.
At times, I recall certain moments. It's like building a collection of small, barely significant memories, still I assemble things I want to re-imagine. How do they look from all the angles? How did I feel about them then and how I see them now.
On some occasions, I simply look back. At old regrets and things I wish had happened. The inevitable sorrows lurk in the dark, but as I get older, I'm getting better at repelling the nonsense.
The end of the day is symbolic, so I dare to make bigger decisions. From tomorrow on, I will eat healthier. When I wake up, I will always remember to do my French first. But as our midnight resoultions keep failing, I think this is why the whole ritual repeats itself 365 a year. It's a row of chances and promises taken over and over again. It's a beautiful frame for all our imperfections.