If it were possible for me to say something profound, I would. However, it is late and as the night extends towards the morning I become increasingly less coherent. So, what am I doing up at this hour? Taking advantage of the weekend. I don’t have to wake up in the morning and although I am tired beyond reason I am stubbornly staying awake in much the same way that I did as a teenager rebelling against the concept of morning. My rebellions in life have all been small, inconsequential, and (quite frankly) rather silly. I rebel against morning, against spelling blonde without its proper final letter, and occasionally against societal norms. A part of me has always enjoyed the idea of pushing against what would be normally expected of me, but there is very little that my brain is actually comfortable with doing.

My brain is absurd. For instance: it will not allow me to eat the last bite of a sandwich without being filled with a sense of impending doom.

Tomorrow I plan to write something a little more concrete. Something about my stalled knitting projects or the game that has completely taken over for the time being. Tonight, however, I plan to dream up something that Shakespeare would be proud of. Something whimsical and fanciful and full of madness. I suppose to dream I have to give up the fight and let my sensible self take control for a while. I have to make the decision to curl up in a pile of blankets and close my eyes. Rebellion be damned! Ha! Rebelling against the rebellion.