Twenty-three past midnight

It’s twenty-three past midnight already.

A pile of dirty shoes beckon to be cleaned. They say you can tell what kind of person someone is by looking at how he/she treats his/her shoes. I wonder how much of that is true.

My work bag is open, its contents scattered on my desk. Leave any one thing and I’d be screwed tomorrow. I wish I was kidding.

I have half a dozen articles left to write. Some of them are refusing to be written but for some sneaky reason I think my brain is just calling it quits… for the night at least.

My heart is aching. Literally. A dull pulling and ripping pain somewhere in my chest is telling me to stop whatever I’m doing and get some sleep. For some reason I don’t think sleep will cure me this time around.

I have work tomorrow (wait, LATER) and I want to be on time for a change. But for some reason I can’t pull away and turn the monitor off. This has become a bad habit I swear.

It’s twenty-three past midnight already, yet here I am still poking and pulling and cutting away at my digits, chipping away at nail and cutting away at excess skin. It’s twenty-three past midnight already but here I am jumping from one webpage to another. I may die tonight or be screwed tomorrow but chances are I’d die with clean digits and a satisfied ADHD mind.

And for some reason, it’s ok.