I can’t sleep again, but with the hours I keep I can’t really complain. As it rains outside Isis, my cat, is sleeping soundly on my bed. I envy her. Her life consists of toys, affection, food, and the love I bring her every day. There isn’t much I can do right now as my body and mind are both overwhelmed with the day’s luggage. I’ll try my best to swear I’ll get more sleep, and wake up early to catch the sun’s first rays onto our morning routines, but who knows what tomorrow will bring.
My alarm is set, and I set another one because I know I’ll blow off the first one with a snooze button; snoozing through life as it passes by. I contract myself to becoming a better person every day and I break that contract every morning when I wake up late; I missed another class.
I stayed home tonight and contemplated the meanings of the words I voice to myself; I’m going to change; I’m never going to stay up this late again; I’m better than this. Am I speaking to myself only to have my own ears deceive me? I am hearing the words of advice I give myself; the same advice I give to others.
Something is different tonight. As I type this short passage I realize…no… I know that this time, this moment, something snapped. I became rationally angry with my trajectory and made a binding promise to myself tonight. I have found the tracks that will lead me to my final destination tonight, and finally have the resolve and strength to get on the train.
There are dishes in my sink and clothes in my hamper. My bathroom sink has hair in it from an impromptu haircut I gave myself; desperately trying to engage my escape from myself. All of these are material and even after my dishes are done, the laundry is folded and the hair is wiped from the sink, I will still have to deal with the lists of metaphysical changes that need to be made on my person and inside of my thoughts.
Tomorrow is poetry, and if poets are the legislators of the world it is my intrinsic duty to legislate my day, then it will be my civil duty to myself to enforce the legislation of the poetry written for me by me. I write this down, not because I have to, or for someone to read, but because my thoughts, which are so often hidden behind a farce of an image of responsibility and togetherness I emit, but for the soul purpose of enforcing life upon myself. My life.