rejectomorph | Reset Forty-Nine, Day Two Hundred Sixteen

I always get a bit depressed when the year is running down. I suppose it's at least partly seasonal affective disorder, but there is also the relentlessness of clocks and calendars. Time has been called a thief so often that it's a cliché, but when more and more shit like joint flexibility and breathing capacity and memory starts going missing who the hell else are you going to blame? Janus, you two-faced bastard!

But somehow this year seems especially dismal to me. Maybe it's because I'm running down faster than the year is. I never expected to see this year, let alone see it end. As it is, I spend more and more time sleeping, or thinking about sleeping when I'm not sufficiently tired to actually sleep. Sometimes I think myself into bed only to find that I'm unable to get Morpheus to pay me any mind. Then I wander into that distressing place between sleeping and waking that is not dreaming but is as incredible as a dream. I might be about to do that right now, as I can't find any energy to stay awake longer.

There will be another gray day today and maybe a bit more rain, but if I wake up there will certainly be a donut, and that will make waking up worthwhile. The thing that makes going to sleep worthwhile is that it isn't being awake. As long as there are donuts I'll probably keep doing this.