See. I told you I hate nights. Wait, did I tell you I hate nights? I actually love love love them once I collapse into bed and open a book. Why? I know that there's nothing more I can do except get semi-lost in whichever book I am halfheartedly reading at the time. But then I fall asleep after about seven minutes (IN HEAVEN!!!) (JK!!!) and dream of abandoned amusement parks. Interrupted sleep, always.
Why can't it be 10PM yet? Then I would feel more "justified" collapsing into bed. Oh, what the hell. I don't need any justification! Justify THIS! (Justify what exactly, Meghan?) (I don't know, don't ask me.) But then I'll fall asleep way too early and then be wide awake by 4AM and drink a Rockstar just because and then feel awesome and like I am going to take on the world and I'll write another blog post and I'll reblog some stupid pictures on Tumblr and I'll watch clips from The View on YouTube and then it will be 5:02AM and I'll be, like, "Oh shit." Point is, I might need a cat more than I realized.
Or a Xanax? A cat and a Xanax. A cat named Xander and a generic Xanax named Cool It Cool Cat. Yeah. Those are the only two things I need. And a dumb book.
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