walkingshadow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walkingshadow) wrote2002-10-16 10:05 pm
walkingshadow) wrote2002-10-16 10:05 pm
(no subject)
Why no, there is nothing quite like jerking awake two hours before the early hour you have to be up and then not falling back asleep.
I cut the POTW very, very close. At 3:10, when my brother came to crash on my bed, I still had zero inspiration. Michael'd been up all night writing a paper, and suggested I write it on exhaustion. Brilliant. Finished at 3:43, and was actually on time to class. Which was cut short due to laryngitis on Chris's part, but the victory remains.
The assignment this week was a formal poem (villanelle, sestina, sonnet, etc.), and the ghazal was the only one that required no rhyming, so even though I'd had vague ideas of doing a villanelle, at 3:15 that dream was abandoned in the spirit of practicality.
Insomnia
At six in the morning snips of songs cycle endlessly.
Slips of half-dreams float unformed and taunt solemnly.
The whir of the fan is never white noise enough.
A mantra chanted wordlessly echoes and does not lull.
In the breathing space between dark and the alarm
I slide slowly between twilight hallucinations.
My limbs lie heavy, paddling sluggishly through cold sheets.
Behind burning lids my eyes stare down the coming week.
Before a groggy sun can gray the air, the numbered
green glow of the clock floats suspended, clicking upward.
Social psych midterm tomorrow, and my procrastination prowess is mighty. I thought that self-handicapping for the test by not studying might actually count as studying for the test, but Jules only raised her eyebrows at me, so I'm guessing no. I'm experiencing an unpleasant compression of the timeline as the week ends and rushes into the next one. Spring registration blindsided me, and it's looming ever larger. Tonight it's trumped by the four chapters I have to read. Everything gets delayed in its own time.
I cut the POTW very, very close. At 3:10, when my brother came to crash on my bed, I still had zero inspiration. Michael'd been up all night writing a paper, and suggested I write it on exhaustion. Brilliant. Finished at 3:43, and was actually on time to class. Which was cut short due to laryngitis on Chris's part, but the victory remains.
The assignment this week was a formal poem (villanelle, sestina, sonnet, etc.), and the ghazal was the only one that required no rhyming, so even though I'd had vague ideas of doing a villanelle, at 3:15 that dream was abandoned in the spirit of practicality.
Insomnia
At six in the morning snips of songs cycle endlessly.
Slips of half-dreams float unformed and taunt solemnly.
The whir of the fan is never white noise enough.
A mantra chanted wordlessly echoes and does not lull.
In the breathing space between dark and the alarm
I slide slowly between twilight hallucinations.
My limbs lie heavy, paddling sluggishly through cold sheets.
Behind burning lids my eyes stare down the coming week.
Before a groggy sun can gray the air, the numbered
green glow of the clock floats suspended, clicking upward.
Social psych midterm tomorrow, and my procrastination prowess is mighty. I thought that self-handicapping for the test by not studying might actually count as studying for the test, but Jules only raised her eyebrows at me, so I'm guessing no. I'm experiencing an unpleasant compression of the timeline as the week ends and rushes into the next one. Spring registration blindsided me, and it's looming ever larger. Tonight it's trumped by the four chapters I have to read. Everything gets delayed in its own time.
no subject