sundays.

as long as i can remember, i have had trouble sleeping on sundays. i don't know why, and now i don't even question it. i used to think it was some problem i had with god or something, but i know it isn't that miraculous. so come eleven o'clock, when i'd like to go to bed, i'll just stare at the black space i hope is still my ceiling when i turn the lights off, and eventually turn the lights back on, and watch television. maybe even write a poem! how exciting.

also, i am very excited about the third chapter of this. get it get it, mr. hertzfeldt.