it is

very very late. or very very early, depending on which direction you're heading. and for most people it wouldn't be either. i, on the other hand, no longer have a recognizable sleep pattern. i just sleep. a lot and at inappropriate times. which is why i didn't sleep last night. i told myself that sleep was not allowed until i have this chapter done. it's closer, but nothing meriting an all-nighter. although, based on this week's sleep, i'm not sure the past 12 or so hours qualifies as an all-nighter.

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i stole periods from th. for this blog, and for that one poem i wrote a year ago.

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all applications are in, as of yesterday when i was pretending i was going to have a productive day, which i would then interpret as a good day.

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i know what i want to write. both in this blog and in the chapter. but everything keeps getting mixed up so Creech's Judas and my sleeping patterns and Kneehigh's A Matter of Life and Death, which I saw in London and read sometime this week, and various TV sitcoms and epithalamions and everything else don't have a clear place.

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i just want to write poetry. please.