Tulsa comes to mind, and the tones of singer Gene Pitney. Tulsa didn’t stay in my mind because the images of killings coming from there were painful. But, what did 24 hours mean to me?
I’ve driven through the night in France and actually passed Le Mans, which means I could pretend that I had been part of the 24-hour race that is held there.
More apt, is that 24-hours is linked to ‘all nighters’, when no sleep is had, because something more important is happening. Sometimes, it was a free music festival that never stopped, and the excitement of being out in muddy fields, listening to rock music of many kinds was too hard to resist. Knebworth, 1974…
Sometimes, it was college assignements that just had to be done, and time was fast running out. FAST! Exhausted afterwards, one could justifiably sleep the sleep of the dead, unless there were classes still to attend. I will live with the fact that my thesis has two pages with duplicate numbers. In the days of carbon copies and typing, not printing and scanning and sending by email, but bundling and binding and taking by hand, this was a small slip. 🙂
Sometimes, it was about working on a difficult financial a problem that was taxing more than a few million people and the midnight oil had to be burnt to get ‘this thing’ resolved. Mexico…Brazil…Argentina–and their debt. Russia…and its rouble problem and the thorny maze of ‘inter-enterpreise accounts’, the Soviet version of transfer pricing that pull hair from heads that even did not have any to begin with. Winter in Moscow is COLD enough, without money worries.
Funny thing about currency crises: countries that have had them, tend to keep having them. Moving along…
Sometimes, it’s about bringing life into being. Women can go into labour at any time, and it often turns into a long haul for them and anyone who is directly inviolved. Holding hands. Going to hospitals. Pacing corridors. Waiting patiently. Seeing new eyes and ears and nose and mouth. Joy! Time for sleep, everybody. Never to be forgotten.