why am I on the floor? and why do I have 100,000 dollars?!

What are any of us supposed to write about? 

There is not correct answer to those questions and they just sparked an avalanche in my head because I opened a book and realized I never know what I'm doing. 

How do we seamlessly incorporate our bones into our writing so that they flick the personable switch in a reader? When we write our bones, are we falsifying them for the entertainment of readers so they aren't bored or dragged down by our moments of gloom? Or are we just writing our gloom with nicer-sounding bones so as to trick our readers into making the gloom entertainment in and of itself. 

And when I say gloom, I mean any general window smears or damp touches that life may touch our writing with. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but it's the only description I can come up with. I don't have that much vocabulary, though others say otherwise. 

You might have guessed that this is something written out of procrastinatory frustration again. It is. You were right. 

I wish it was easier to find time to sleep, I'm fucking exhausted and it's my fault. Not only am I literally at fault for owning a body that will exhaust itself after running around all day, but procrastinatory behavior is not on the list of things that lead to me going to sleep at a reasonable time. Tonight especially. I've dug too many holes and now I have to fill them all in one night so the killer geckos don't get me in my sleep. Thats a Louis Sachar book or something. 

It will be 23:00 in 8 minutes. I always do countdowns on these things, I don't know why. Like I said, I'm exhausted, it's not my fault my brain is falling out of my ears. 

Where's the sky when you need it. Whoever invented roofs is a sicko. I should be able to look at the overcast night sky whenever I want without having to go to the trouble of going all the way downstairs and out the door. Didn't you hear, I'm exhausted. I don't have the energy for that. Just take off the roof and let me die in peace. 

I've probably written more on this fucking website than for any school assignment in the past month. I have a 75 in science. I only missed one worksheet too, I did my projects and everything. The man is a sicko. He probably invented roofs. 

Maybe there's neverending energy in the next life. I'd like that. I either want my body to never need sleep to function or be able to stop time. I think stop time would be a good one. I can stop it for as long as I want, like a pause button. 

Because time never stops ticking and I don't think my brain has ever fully grasped that. Especially not after the fucking trip I went on a couple months back. Time is a ridiculous, fluid fucking thing. I just want to blackout for the night but then wake up on my floor with 100,000 dollars and a high school diploma. 

I am aggravated. 

unconsciously writing English papers, 

funkadelic and the blackout boys