and I’m still wide awake.

I don’t know if it’s the excitement from a sudden inspiration today to start writing my Great American Novel for the 458935th time. Or if it’s the violent/thrilling/intense scenes from The Dark Knight that keep replaying over and over in my head. Or if the barista at Starbucks forgot to make my 6PM grande iced skinny vanilla latte a DECAF like I asked. Either way, when my alarm goes off in a few hours, I’m going to be pretty miserable.

The weekend was pretty average: Friday night we ventured out to Queens to drink far too many pitchers at the outdoor Beer Garden. Saturday was full of naps and movies on TV, followed by an unsuccessful (by my own standards) night out in the village. And Sunday was Batman, Bloomies and then the annoying inability to sleep. Meh.

I don’t know what it was about today, but I came to this vague realization that I wanted to do something more with myself. I’m not quite sure what that even means, or what I’d need to do to get there, but I’m thinking it’s related to my desire to write and to be read. So we’ll go with that.

I feel like people often forget that they’re in control of their own happiness - me included. If we put aside what we can’t control and stop dwelling, we can focus on what we know makes us happy. If it’s disappointing or unhealthy or uninteresting, CHANGE IT. I think those are good words to live by.

Now I’m tired.