Tired

I have a grown up job. Some of you may be wondering what connotes a job being 'grown up', but let me tell you the rules that I have created:

• Do you work more than 35 hours a week? [X]
• Do you work Monday through Friday? [X]
• Do you wake up with the sun for work? [X]
• Do you have benefits AND vacation time? [X]

 Congratz, you have a grown up job. I work at a desk all day, and though it is in my house and I can see my bed if I roll back and look out the door, I still consider my job a grown up job. Sure I don't make as much as some people, but I make enough to pay my bills and still have enough money left over to spend on things for myself. Which is lovely.

Being the Grown up that I am, I am tired. I feel like most grown ups are tired. We wake up at the same time as the sun (I've been doing this without an alarm clock somehow. I know. The only explanation I can come with is wizards) and I usually don't find this an issue. Unless, of course, I end up staying up past 11 PM. If I stay up past 11 PM I know I will wake up tired. And when I see that the clock is past 11 PM I give up all hope of waking up well rested and usually stay up till 1 AM.

That is what happened last night. Though I have a better excuse than usual, it still stinks to wake up when the sun is rising and realize that, "Oh shit, I am going to fall asleep at my desk." which I successfully didn't do today. A good amount of green tea helped keep my perky as well as my, "Morning aka I'm not ready for the hard stuff" itunes playlist, full of music like Regina Skeptor, Feist, Oren Lavie and Copeland who welcome me to the day with open arms and no head banging.

Hopefully I am get to bed at a decent hour. Though I rarely count on it these days.

I have something planned coming up in the next few weeks, which I hopefully will start soon. I have been trying to write more and last night after watching the #8in8 livestream last night for a good three hours (Where the album can be found in this general direction including the work of Miss Amanda Fucking Palmer, Mister Neil Fucking Gaiman and Ben Folds), I got creative and wrote the first Poem I have written in ages. So here you go:

Eleven Hundred and Eleven

No matter how hard I try

I always come back to your eyes.

You never forgot about me,

and I'm sorry,

I really am,

But you'll never see me again.

I left out of town two weeks ago.

Wondering where should I go?

Planning was never my strong point.

So I went, this time, to Detroit.

And today has brought me:

Eleven hundred new faces.

Air ports are always that way.

Eleven sick new fantasies.

Baby, it's always that way.

I guess

What I'm really trying to say,

though I'm having some issues saying it correctly.

Is that I'm glad you'll never see me again.

Because in all honesty,

babe,

You were always my least favorite.

Meh, it's something. Better than nothing.

I think it'd make a lovely song.

Though I've never been too good a poetry...So expect something tomorrow, hopefully. I make no promises. But I'd like to think I'll have something exciting for tomorrow.