good night moon

I don't know what to do with myself. The obvious answer is to go to bed. All I have wanted to do for the past week or two is go to bed. And now, tonight, when I could be in bed, I'm sitting on my bed (which is what you do in a studio apartment) not wanting to sleep. At all. Possibly ever.

The problem is, I don't want to do anything. I kind of want to work on the thesis. And I kind of want to watch an episode of Numb3rs. And I kind of want to. . . but no, not really.

I'm ready. Not to sleep. To move forward. I don't know what "forward" will be, but it's time. My thesis got the thumbs up from my professor yesterday, so all I need to do are some minor revisions. After that I need to finish my courses with a chapbook (!) and a 15-page paper on Ossian and Romantic literature. I like Ossian--I like all blind third-century fictitious bards. I just don't want to write a paper on him. But spending 15 pages with Wordsworth will make me jump.

So schoolwork, check. And work--well, I told them that I'm leaving. I had to submit a letter of resignation, which was odd. But on June 24, I'm saying good-bye to McCormick and co. And then sometime that next week, I'll drive off into the sunset to that great beehive in the west.

And then. I don't know. But let's not spoil this.

Maybe I do have some poet-ing in me tonight after all.

[P.S. Today was Claire's birthday. She's one and all smiles. I was trying to figure out how I would remember her birthday. I was reciting how Sam's is on the 24th of July and Abby's is burned into my memory, and Claire's was just a random day. And my co-worker looked at me for a minute, like she was waiting for me to catch on. I didn't, so she said, "You mean Cinco de Mayo?" Yeah, Claire. I won't forget.]