Looking through my journal I find an entry dated back in April at 4 in the morning. Apparently I had been procrastinating all night and just recently started working on what was due that day. Behold, a glimpse into the madness that is my mind:
One of the most frightening sounds ever carried through the air is the chirp chirp chirping of birds in the morning. That early morning bugle, the war cry of the sky, as menacing fluffs of blue, brown and yellow fill the world with their malicious intent to call upon the morning. The curtains are still drawn and light is still hours away, and yet as if possessed by some unholy demon these colorful minions begin their dawn assault all at once on some psychic cue. Fear shudders through my strained caffeinated heart as I realize that these hell-spawn are drawing out master Helios, bringing my deadline that much closer to fruition. All night, like many nights before, I dawdled through the ticking hours with hardly any notice and skipped along the internet highway, so now like some blaring prison watchtower the birds slam the reality in my face: that I have yet again wasted another potential night of sleep. Cruel, cruel fiends. My task incomplete, my cup empty of tea, and the slow painful truth sinking in with every high pitched tweet. Game well played, my nemeses, game well played.