Lying here in bed, my mind racing with ideas, to-do lists, and occaisionally stopping to hear the faint and muffled dreamy snores of Hogan, lying in his bed at the foot of mine, I wonder just why is it that it seems I'm most productive when I least want to be. My mind, like a broken valve on a fire hydrant, teams with action plans, all to be subdued by daylight next morn.
Sometimes I wish I could flip the world and make morning out of night... or vice-versa. Yet I'm glad I'm one of the few that actually does have significent and detailed thought processes, ideas waiting to burst onto a broadway stage and say "here I am, complete with a curtin bow".
Then there's the other times when I just take my sleeping pills and tell my mind to just shut up.
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