An hour til sunrise and my eyelids won’t stay down.

Why is ambition always so high in this space of time? Knowing that in an hour my eyelids will have most likely decided to end their curious wake and once again the tops will embrace the bottoms.

I know this. But, (probably the right side), my brain is up making grandiose plans of getting up and taking a walk to see the sunrise. Of really getting a hold of myself and being the me I have been, and would like to be again. Making plans to get the house as spotless and organized as I’d like. Making plans to get my yard together. Forgetting entirely what I want to.

Are you wondering what I am forgetting on purpose? This prose is so much more whimsical without it.

Alas, the heavy tone of reality never really leaves my fingertips.

It’s in this cut out space of morning that I allow myself to daydream without constantly reminding myself of how I am fixed to my world.

I let myself not think about the depression that binds my body to it’s predetermined fatigue. I let myself drift away from the thought fog and chaos of having both a deficit of attention and an obsessive attachment to things that don’t require my attention. I let myself pretend that my energy is able to be harnessed by my own wants, and not the task of convincing myself on a cellular level that the throat butterfly is not an intruder.

I guess it’s in this hour that I do my best pretending.