Late at night. Can't sleep. Body wants rest. Mind says no. Maybe writing will help. Do I feel the need to say something? So far, obviously, nothing profound.
Too awake to sleep. Too tired to make most of time. Wish I knew what to do with the moment.
I got nothing. But I like the silence. So rare.
Hold on. Maybe a little trivial insight coming?
Nope. Just a belch.
C'mon Mr. Sandman, send me a dream. Make me the blah, blah, blah. This is going nowhere. Always this internal pressure to make every second some deep philosophical epiphany. Rarely happens. Assuming it ever has.
So here I sit. Clock ticking. Night enveloping. Brain running on fumes. Need sleep to gas up the tank. Start fresh in the morning.
Enough of this.
Wait. Wait a second. Yep. I've got it. This is good. Should prove extremely helpful. Here it is:
Strong black coffee, French toast, and real maple syrup could very well save the world.