Morning

I figure I might as well write right now.  I went to bed at three last night (or rather, this morning) and woke up at seven, then couldn't fall back asleep.  Since then, the one even remotely productive thing I've done has been taking a shower.  And I don't know that that counts as anything even remotely productive.  In fact, I rather doubt it does.  So I'm just going to do at least something worthwhile and write.

Why does it always have to be weekends that I wake up early and can't sleep in?  I got four hours of sleep, damn it.  I would have very much appreciated either not waking up or at the very least being able to fall back asleep.  But no, apparently I don't have that kind of luck.  So here I am, wondering how exhausted and unproductive I'm going to be today and waiting to go grab some brunch.

I've really got nothing to say, nothing to write.  I don't much have the desire to be sitting here spilling thoughts out into a box.  But I'm doing it anyway, because I should...or something like that.  I don't know.  I'm tired, I'm sorry.  I can't think particularly straight, nor can I say that I really want to at this particular moment in time.  So instead, I'm letting my fingers flow over the keyboard and put letters down that turn into words which combine into sentences as time goes by.

It's interesting how I can tell precisely what mood I'm in by the way I type.  I've had those days when I pound on the keyboard and flood the page with aggression, and then I've had those when I'll tap gently at each key, selecting the most perfect letters to most precisely express what I want to say (I haven't had many of those lately, truth be told).  And then there are days like today, where my typing is fast and fluid and I wonder why the hell it never works out like this on those days when I have things to say, when I could craft something interesting or wonderful out of my typings, why it has to be days like this when I'm throwing empty thoughts onto a page, thoughts that nobody needs to see and nobody will care about even if they do.

The thing with being tired is that my restraint of myself is lessened.  I let myself get away with saying things I otherwise wouldn't.  But I don't have much of that sort to say today anyhow, so perhaps it is a pity that of all days, today was the day when I got only four hours of sleep.  I'm really jealous of those who know how to sleep in, who are capable of going to bed at five am and waking up at one pm.  Alas, I get to deal with myself the way I am.  I hope this is a thoroughly pleasant day for anyone who reads this and all others too, of course.