There's a certain kind of intimacy in knowing you won't be sleeping. It's strange. It sneaks up on you. One moment you're in class, talking about poetry, outside smoking a cigar with someone you want to call a boy, someone who's actually a man. Strange to think about people in those kinds of terms. I don't like attributing too much age to people. I try not to analyze myself too much. Sunday night and into Monday I didn't sleep at all. Slept four hours Monday night, and almost nine last night. Now I can see the not sleeping sneaking up. I don't mind. I have a paper to do anyway. I just need to get out some of this extraneous thought so I can work on it. I know I can do it, that's not the hard part. I just have to concentrate long enough. Making myself some tea, putting on classical music as loud as my ear drums can stand it. About to open the window to cool it off in here.
I wrote a poem I really like. I went on a late diner dinner date. Kind of. Zack. Aspiring poet, astronaut, and rockstar.
I really like people.
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