another post not worth reading (or writing)

it's late. i haven't posted anything worth reading for almost a month. i'm just too damn tired. i'm on my seventh night in a row being up past 2am. two of these being up until 6am. five of these nights have been due to writing papers and studying. the other two were due to stupidity, hanging out late with friends when i should have been catching up on some much needed sleep. stupid. i know.

i've got plenty of stories to tell, but no energy to do it. i gave up the dog piss months ago, only to replace it with coffee. rock stars have been replaced with vanilla lattes. monsters have been replaced with frappaccinos. aluminum cans replaced with paper cups and cardboard sleeves. one addiction for another. at least it tastes better now.

in queue is a story of walmart and my quest for dust pan. i hate walmart. a lot. i mean i really hate walmart. i've still got part four of my posts on capital punishment. the only post that is worth telling on the subject. the part of capital punishment that not only denies it's inhumanity and celebrates our own humanity. i've got a sweet and nauseating story of my recent visit to the american red cross. loving through suffering. i've got some thoughts on friedrich nietzsche and his declaration that 'god is dead'. i've got something i want to say about kierkegaards knight of faith.

i've got a whole lot to say. i have stories i want to tell. i just don't have the time. instead, i sit here, taking a break from my midterm on nietzsche's birth of tragedy, and write about not having time to write. i stay up complaining about not getting sleep.

i really need to sleep, but it seems like such a waste of time. you fall asleep, you wake up, you miss out on life. there is no growing while you sleep. there is no learning. there is no experiencing the world. it's not living, it's temporarily dying, and resurrected the next morning. only with me, there is no stone to roll away. no angels to celebrate my return to life. only the persitant beeping of an alarm clock. in a few minutes i will be dead. in a few hours i will rise again. it's the cyclical repetition of hindu reincarnation, only each life is the same. my own. just slightly different. slightly older. slightly more experienced. and slightly ready to give it another try.