The fringes on the rug broke your vacuum cleaner, sir.

I'm not feeling extremely wordy as of right now. But I can't think of anything else to do that won't put me to sleep. I could continue on reading Dharma Bums to enlighten me spiritually and Kerouac-y. But once I do, my eyes will get heavy and I will have no other choice but to doze off into dreamland. If I wanted, I could sketch my face. I attempted that two nights ago because I was feeling particularly self confident as well as radiant in my appearance. But soon after my 3B (I work dark) pencil was set down on the paper, and my soft curls bounced around the egg shape that is my head, I grew drowsy again. What is making me so goddamn tired? It's not like I'm working my ass off at jobs. I'm not raising a bunch of kids, trying to make them successful products of the world. I'm pretty much sitting on my ass waiting for opportunities to arise. And some have. Like today. I ripped down (unscrewed) my fan blades and painted them. Seven years ago when I moved to this house, my mom painted my fan a precious shade of puke orange. It was too much and didn't really go with my new room at all. So today I fixed it. If you had to compare the end product of what I did to an organ in your body, it would most closely resemble the heart. The colors of the fan are blood red and aorta blue. Just kidding....cardinal red and turquoise. Same thing though, right?

It's 10:29. What am I going to do to stay awake? Can you please start a conversation with me. Tell me how 85% of your day is spent thinking about me, so I can tell you that 86% of my day is spent thinking of you. Hop through these hours with me like a cricket in flight. But don't hop too high, cause I want to savor this time.