How is this winter the longest one in history? How exactly did that happen? Last winter was pretty long, too. Summer always seems too short, despite the fact that the days stretch on beyond the horizon. It is February, however, which means we made it through January. Barely. I'm barely making it through this day and it's only 6:27pm. I'm bound to be up for at least another seven hours even though every part of me straight down to my bones needs a long, long rest. I'm not choosing to be awake, but my brain is. My brain needs to take a fat chill pill and call it a day. If you ever get my brain to listen to you, tell them I said that, okay? Thanks.
I shouldn't, but I do take comfort knowing that other people have had a somewhat shitty day. Or at least a strange one. Something feels off, does it not? Are we all suffering from vampire bites (see previous post)? Maybe Thursday is the new Monday. Maybe Monday is the new Thursday. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but you know what? Days in general don't make sense. Some chump named Gregorian created our calendar a freakin' longass time ago and we just accepted it. We don't have to accept or respect no calendar, fool(s)! Let's create our own days. Let's create our own ways of seeing, doing, working, resting, being. Winter can be merely a day long if we want it to be. Summer can drag her lovely feet around for years. Our years can be made up of the minutes right before sunset. Our time can be an eternity, wearing nothing but an indeterminately long dress.
Soooo now I'll quit my attempts at being poetic. I'm too tired to move my fingers across this crumbless keyboard. Yes, I've been diligent at not eating while computing. I've also been not eating, mostly due to the fact that I remain for hours or perhaps centuries in my head, distracted by what could be and never was. It's not the smartest, no. And so I ask myself, "What would Gregorian do?" He'd probably eat a sandwich the size of a year with extra Saturdays, dripping with Tuesdays, hold the Mondays. And so I too feast.