This isn’t about insomnia, so don’t diagnose me with that please. I’m just up at 4.30am thinking about all the stuff I could or should have done this week. Procrastination guilt?
I’m just up at 4.30am trying to justify purchases, then resorting to ‘Save For Later’ on Amazon.com; Also, I’m falling down the rabbit hole of the interwebs by continually clicking on related article links here and here, then being forced to google stuff I’ve never heard of for full context. Yeah, forced.
I’m just up at 4.30am looking at my baby girl because she’s so adorable and I can’t wait for her to wake up and smile at me. Or wake up and scream for milk. I’m a milk machine now. I’m a cow. This is it, this is the real reason. It’s because I’m responsible now. Please let responsibility be the real reason.
This isn’t a problem that started recently, it’s something I picked up in reading weeks at Uni, when you have more time on your hands than things to do in the morning. Then you can stay up all night solely to discuss why Sunset Beach had such a ridiculous ending and other such details of nothing.
To be fair, I’m not even sure this is a real problem; I’ve been known to fall asleep within four minutes of speaking.
I’m up because I’m trying to think of a way to resolve Brexit negotiations. Not really, no one can do that shit.
I’m just up at 6am, I’m JUST UP
On this up, I’ve maybe just written my first blog post in over a year. I looked at my notebook, my post ideas from August 2016 returned the stare. I’m back this week, though: Return Of The Mack (‘macking’ being writing, please). Bear with me por favor; I’m making life adjustments.
Look at me, I’m even assuming I have readers.