It had recently been brought to his attention that he was constantly at the tremendous, just, geometric and correct pursuit of the accomplishment of banal and pointless ends. And although at the time, they weren't quartering limes -- but halving walnuts and alternating the flavour with the creamy taste of pecans -- the conversation had stumbled upon a few weird paths the length of the later hours, most of which were not left untread.
The following day, successive waves of these memories came to him as he found himself rocking out to something or other about cutting his hair so many times he couldn't even recognize his own face. Maybe it was about shutting down the system and sleeping for a stir but that wasn't happening anytime soon: he wouldn't sleep with walls still bare, area rugs left unadjusted, spoons askew. Plus, there was work and coffee to deal with; the Italian latter being a far more efficient and valuable stimulant than the former.
In life, he knew, there existed a far greater sum of reading and learning than one could imagine to possibly comtemplate yet alone absorb with any relevance and conciseness in order to in turn donate a reasonable mess of thought and correlations to the randomly available ear. He digested this with an ease akin only to his general indifferent achromaticism.
"Memories can't wait." Talking Heads
"Memories are deceptive because they're coloured with today's events." Einstein