Dear Diary

Should I do it? Should I write about my day like you're supposed to in a diary?
I don't really know if you'll like what you'll find.
I don't really know if I'll like what I'll find.
I don't really know if I care.

So it started at 4:44am when my "sleep cycle"  tone entitled Belfast Park rang the alarm that I had rolled over in bed and begun the plunge toward the top of my cyclical resting time. Did you follow that? It's quite a mouthful.

I promptly rolled over again and carried on.

At 7:45 I woke with the bittersweet realization that I had in fact, rolled over again and carried on. At this point, I was 45 minutes late to my first appointment of the day.

Let's pause there momentarily and dissect the word appointment because why not.
The way I like to think of it, and let me tell you I have no idea if this is actually the breakdown, is that you are pointing, with your index finger, at a time of your day and saying "YOU! 3pm!! YOU are the time at which I will do THIS!".

To my defense, I hadn't checked into my full size (not even queen. I don't even get queen!) bed until 12:45am so I desperately earned that extra few hours.

I'm already exhausted writing only this much, and I haven't even walked you through the adventure I explored in the bathroom after waking. I can't do it. I can't write about my day like a normal girl. Maybe you can have highlights. Or lowlights. Or one appointment at a time. There's just SO much intricacy. So much detail. Every sensation is noticed, notated, memorized, recorded and often scarred, seared or branded in.

At this moment I am exhausted.