51/34: Later Than I Think

[rejectomorph]

Struggling with this blank page for two hours and I just don't feel like it. I feel like going to sleep. Birds are starting to sing outside, and light is growing, and I hate to go to sleep in the light almost as much as I hate to wake up in the dark. My feet don't want to carry me to the bed, but I'm going to insist. After all, my brain has to think about all this crap, and it isn't complaining. Well, okay, it's complaining loud and long, almost constantly, but at least it's still doing the thinking. If those feet know what's good for them they'll haul my fat ass right into that room and flop into bed with the rest of me.

Damn, I should have been asleep two hours ago.