The Indirect Proof

Probably sleep deprived.

There is an incessant banging of metal outside my house. I’d rather not go outside and check on it.

Retired last night at around two-thirty in the morning after multiple card games and a great deal of conversation on my part. Woke up this morning at five-thirty, started my day with four rounds of solitaire while waiting for everyone else to wake up. Ended up with a total of three hours of sleep more or less. Oh the unassuming irony.

Seven-hour road trip back home; not a minute of sleep on my part.

Now, I’m just waiting in my room, whiling the time away, writing down comments I’ll never post; comments about pictures I probably won’t even scrutinize soon. The sandman hasn’t come yet.

It really is the little things you tend to appreciate: the lack of sleep from staying up for no reason; the soft beating of sunshine coupled with some strong winds blowing at you while you pose and try to look epic for a photo op on the beach; Being forcibly dragged down into the water where your only mistake was trying to look epic sitting down on the sand, looking contemplative, yet at the same time completely oblivious to everyone; the dinnertime ‘fireworks’; midnight deadlines, coupled with some texting and a round of stargazing; forming arguments in your head with regards to whether you resemble OJ Acopiado in any way or the fact that you haven’t seen Pocahontas. These things you remember, completely overshadowing the inevitable low points, helping you forget.

Then you realize: this is what you call ‘having a life.’

(I’ll end this here and just let that sink in. I really am sleep deprived, and that mysterious clanking of metal just outside my window isn’t helping.

Seriously, that noise is just creepy.)