| Why is it that I'm dead tired all day, but the minute I go to bed it's like a dictionary exploded in my head? I'm trying to catch a snooze, which is hard enough for me, but no, I have to be possessed with what seems like the spirit of some eccentric and unrelenting poet who leaves me scribbling in my notebook by red haze in the dead of the night. Every time I turn the light off, more words come tumbling out and I grudgingly roll over to commit them to paper just in case they should be something profound. On second glance, it probably just looks like a nutcase rambling about the solar system and blurting our random words. I have really bizarre timing. I wonder what I would produce if I actually stayed up and went the the crazy, erratic flow of my suddenly inspired imagination. I should try that sometime. I'd probably end up like some raving sleep mad lunatic, but I might be a prolific and brilliant writer. I'm probably over-done on sleep anyway, I probably could trade a few winks if I didn't have exams. Eleven days and then I am free! Labels: Poetry, sleep, writing |
