I'm up a bit later than I originally intended to be and, considering it's not yet 1 am, I've just given a pretty solid illustration of how mundane my weeknights tend to be. I have this weird feeling bed times will never be cool. Oh well. Considering my options, I'll usually choose to be rested.

Late nights (loose definition) can be fun, but now I'm laying in bed waiting for my body to remember that I should've been asleep a while ago. Every minute that passes is one more ounce of exhaustion that I'll be slogging through tomorrow. And yet... I'm not especially tired, maybe just delirious - somehow sedate but attentive.

I sleep on a futon in a large, but mostly empty, room. I have little in the way of furniture because, well, I'm subletting and almost everything I own is on the other side of the country. It's late, I have work early, and I'm at least a little drunk. All I hear is the soft static of my fan pushing air and Black Mountain's "Queens Will Play."