The only reason I have ever been able to successfully stay up at night has been to write. This is true.
I have tried many times, I really have- for the sake of the college degree that cost my father most his life's earnings, for the sake of the love that deserves my attention, the sake of art, self respect or conversation, for the sake of my friends who need to be wished on the day I finally remember to wish them, for the sake of my nostrils (and other orifices) that would, in the event that I lose conscious wakefulness,be vulnerable to ingression by the three tiny cockroaches still alive in the room- but never, ever have I not succumbed to slumber if not for that one reason.

Why is that? Why haven't I noted this before? Will having noted this NOW change anything? I'm quite fucking curious and I wish my favourite poet adds me on facebook because there is absolutely nowhere else that she would show herself and I have absolutely no money to buy her books so I'll have to do with sparse appearances by her spirit wherever possible, and apparently that's only facebook.

My ability to digress impresses me greatly, but again, did I really digress at all?
Hm.

I wrote a song.

Saturday morning, have no fear
We've got a whole round around the sphere.
We're spinning fast and we're running late-
Wish I could drown but there's no time to waste

Saturday morning

You should be truthful to you my dear
This ain't no time to make you disappear
So you pull down your socks, you pick up your shoes
and I look for myself until we lose this
saturday morning

And suddenly, it was saturday morning yesterday

Maybe the distance is not very far,
Maybe we're stuck just wherever we are.
But baby we should make our move before the sun beats down again

Saturday morning, every saturday morning.

It's saturday morning, and I'm right here
We missed a whole week, oh wait- it's been a year
No treasures to mark and no sailors aboard
Tied to the ground that's been grave to a hoard of
saturday mornings, and I have been
silently mourning over and over and over again.

But this is the moment I claim as mine now.

I bury the anchor- and I take a bow.
Let's say you're the water- I just don't need to float,
swim, sail or drown- I'll just take the road to me
this saturday morning

and fuck the morning yesterday was

This is the difference- closed and ajar,
Guess I was stuck while you drifted apart.
So babe I had to make my move before the earth spun around again


I am done mourning every Saturday morning.
Here's to Saturday mornings.

I dont know if this makes sense now, but

don't bury no shovel, just pick up the plow

Nothing bothers me more than my lost appetite for myself. It almost gives me the strange impulse to change the content in my about me page but I'm really not sure if that is going to be any help at all.

Days like these, I'd gladly be salad with no dressing and not complain about the blandness in my brain if that's what it takes to keep you healthy. Seems like I have priorities after all, eh?
Healthy.