Tonight I had a graceful plop onto the floor and just stayed there looking at the ceiling for ten minutes.

It’s the kind of tired where you drink five cups of water every half hour and it leaves a bland taste in your mouth and after you start doing something you keep going not so much because you want to and more becuase it’s just easier to keep doing it then to stop.

The kind of tired where everything in your head feels sepia colored and kind of crudely shaped but, somehow, really authentic because it’s too mushy to have fakeness inside of it, and maybe you could understand some things in life a lot better if the thoughts you’re having would ever get around to being more articulated than misty lines that disappear when you look at them too closely.

I love seeing the stars after too many nights of seeing clouds.  It fills my head up with fresh air, and that’s one of the nicest things ever.