Too early to make sense…

I went to bed early last night. In my weeks of being jobless, my sleep pattern has been less than desirable. Go to bed when I’m tired, getting up… whenever. Which usually comes down to going to bed around three or four in the morning, and getting up any time between 10:45, and 12:00. There’s nothing worse than not only feeling like a slacker, but waking up at noon to prove you right. Not the case last night though. See I’m working as a secretary today at some place. It was done through a temp agency. And honestly I’m thankful. I need the cash. But back to my point. I went to bed early, so I could get up early. The early that I was greeted with this morning, was not what I had in mind though. 4:30. Now forgive me if I believe that is a time to go to bed, but no time to be getting up. Just the same though, I lay in bed, and try not to force myself into sleep.

I catch up on everything I missed over night. Nothing too exciting on facebook, tumblr is essentially just as I left it. Finally the clock reaches 6 am, an hour before my alarm is set to go off. Finally I make it out of bed. I turn on the lights, open my computer, and alas, here we are.

The mornings are a funny thing for a person who is ever so naturally a night person. In the night there’s noise, and the day that had fallen before it. There’s the worry that is life, the constant movement, and jumbled up thoughts that live within my head. The social norms that I’ve confined myself to live by that are  also what I’ve trained my thoughts by. And each night, I bid my life farewell for my needed eight hours of a break. Then each morning I wake up, knowing many other people have already beaten me to it. To the morning.

Today though. When I was laying in bed. Everything seemed so calm and quiet. My day hasn’t been ruined by the world yet. My thoughts of mediocrity haven’t plagued my existence. I mean how can it, if the universe is expecting me to still be sleeping for hours more. Thoughts flow into my head in a poetic stream that only seems to come from the quiet calmness that is the early morning. My mouth– that seems to let out words almost as fast as they can, in fear of nothing getting everything out—is silent. My lips say nothing while my head is saying everything. My lips say nothing in fear of what will actually come out. In fear, that whatever it is that finally comes out, won’t be words that are my own. But instead words of something that has been fed to me.

It’s a funny thing. Being quiet. Especially this early, when words and noise is not required. I let the screaming of my tea kettle fill my need to tell the world that breakfast is almost ready. I let the slamming of keys on a key board pour out the words that are currently in my head. The longer I physically say nothing, the more anxious I become to see what my first word will be today. Will it be something profound and meaningful “I know what I want to do with my life…” or something simple and meaningless such as “I’m on my way to work” I wonder if other people think about the first sound that comes out of their mouth… or maybe it’s just me.

This feeling is almost enough to make me want to get up every morning with the hope that each day I can feel this hopeful about life. Each day knowing that regardless of what I do, that it’s going to be okay. Let’s be honest though. Not every day is like this. Hell. Most days aren’t like this. Most days, getting up is just something I do, only to be followed by doing not much else. But today is different. Today my head feels hopeful, my soul feels busy, and I feel like maybe, just maybe something is starting to turn around.

Oh. And I’m still waiting to see what my first word is going to be today. I’ll let you know.

EDIT: “I’m so excited for you” it was the first thing I said today. I was chatting with a friend and I whispered the words out loud as I typed them. Didn’t even realize it till it was already out.

Billy Shakespear….

I’ve been told that in renisaunce litterature poems would be written as a responce to different poems by different people. So as an english major heres my current thoughts…

Sir William                                                                                                                                    Could you please screw off                                                                                                          Doth words are aged and experation past                                                                            Hidden messages burried in the sand                                                                                        Well my knees hurt and I’m tired of digging. Can you just serve it to me in a bottle?     Simply say how you mean and stop exhausting me so.

Suicide between Romeo & Juliet                                                                                                     Incestual love driving Hamlet insane,                                                                                         And Macbeth… only not in a theatre house.

Such an idea puts me to sleep                                                                                                            When Ambien wont do, poetry ads weight to my eyes                                                                Mixed in with toungs that take long to read.

Sir you don’t seem to understand                                                                                                    I have three other classes, all of them reference you                                                                  So give it up old man, and simply leave me be,                                                                           Or may your ghost haunt a man of such, possibly a Spielberg, or a Daniel of Day Lewis      Show him a common way                                                                                                 May these men create a modern show or something of your work                                         I’m not meaning DiCaprio                                                                                                            That picture was a mess.

With all that said dear William                                                                                                          I shall sleep till morrow with assistance of some sorrow streaming from your pen           Just the same however,                                                                                                              Here’s a $20 for your silcence, to buy much back in your day,                                                  Take this bill, put down your pen                                                                                                   So lastly I may find rest.