1:00 AM I crawl into bed and sprawl out on top of the covers. I know that I have a Classic Brian to write, but I don't have it in me right now. "It" being the ability to do much of anything other than be sprawled out on top of my bed. I spend maybe 15 minutes looking over at the light switch, wondering if it's worth the effort of turning it off.
"I can probably fall to sleep with the lights on," I think. 5 more minutes pass. "Yeah definitely."
I set my phone alarm to 4:30 AM. After all I have a Classic Brian to write.
4:30 AM Whaaaaaat what the hell sound is that. What is happening who is happening. I hate this I hate everything that is awake right now why am I awake right now. Cell phone. Why are you. Bam. Bam bam. You're off. Rot in hell cell phone alarm. I am victorious once again. Goodnight forever.
7:15 AM I used to be asleep but now I am awake. Why is this? It's 7:15. Nothing good happens at 7:15. I have no need for this. Why did I wake up? I feel guilty. What do I have to feel guilty about? My conscience is clean. Yesterday I finally returned Taxi Driver after weeks of forgetting I had it. Uhhhhh what else. I feel like there's something I should be doing.
7:45 AM I'm sorry, maybe you didn't understand, me. I wanted to go back to sleep, not wake up every half an hour. This is bullshit.
8:30 AM Riiiiiiiiight. Yeeeeeeah. Classic Brian. Ssssssssssss. Yeah I'll get right on that... Yeah, yeah, one second.
8:50 AM Riiiiiiiiiight. Okay. Okay game time. I've got this.
8:57 AM whatiswrongwithme
9:13 AM JOKE OVER HERE WE GO.
I have work at either 10:30 or 11:00. I'm not entirely sure. I'll split the difference and show up at 10:45. Make everyone happy. I'm working double shifts today and tomorrow because this one kid needed the weekend off. We had set up this elaborate system of trading days so he ended up covering some of my shifts in return but somehow that didn't work out. Except for the days I'm covering for him. Cool good.
Poetry, you say? Poetry... I only really know that poetry I read in Lit classes in high school. There's nothing interesting I could contribute to a discussion on poetry, but I will, anyway.
A Dream Deferred
by Langston Hughes
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
like a heavy load.
Live your dreams. I am. By going back to sleep for another half hour.