Caffeine

One can of Mountain Dew was consumed, by me, in order to properly view a late, private screening of Freedom Writers. I hate Mountain Dew. The screening was cancelled due to fatigue.
One cup of green tea was consumed, by me, shortly afterwards. Snow had been falling softly, magically, and called for the comforting process of brewing.

It is now 5 a.m.

I am more aware of the headache that has been with me all day.
I imagined a photography minor.
I hear the snowplows outside.
I have thought about death... and my student loans.
I am thirsty.
I replayed select scenes from Million Dollar Baby in my head.
I smell the blank scent of myself.
I'm fucked for tomorrow.
I've assumed all sleeping positions.
I can get four and a half hours... starting now.
I have stopped trying.

The Decemberists are grooving about the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime.

The house creaks something mysterious and terrifying. As if it were to collapse upon itself. Implode, House of Usher style. A momentary sweep of headlight streamed through the window above my head and I imagine an old Cadillac crashing through. It destroys my guitar to my right and, to my left, my laptop. It also lands on my skull and I go out like a poor bastard. I hope they say that at my funeral, "The poor bastard..."

I should chase Mountain Dew with green tea in the mornings...