My eyes are burning. I'd hoped to finish my book tonight, but I think I've been out of social energy for two weeks, and I'm beginning to crash a little - a lot - and I simply cannot sleep. Tonight was my night for poetry, a little more story writing, finishing my book, doing some drawing, and getting to bed at a reasonable hour, but I'm going to have to settle for just one, and I can't decide which. My body can't even remember the last night I had time to myself for more than thirty minutes before sleeping (except for insomnia, and that doesn't count). Tonight was going to be my night, but I'm crashing hard.
I guess this is only delaying my decision time.
My hands are cold, eternally so
I'm flipping pages, but no longer feel
my thumbs, and my feet
wrapped in countless layers are numb
and I'm using these cold devices
to warm my freezing heart.
no, I'll just hit sleep like a battering ram and pray.
some days, introversion is my enemy
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