I woke up early just so that I could feel the morning in my veins. It’s like gravel. Nothing else really quite cuts it and that is sad in its own way. So I sit with my gravelly mornings, completely dependent on my caffeine buzz to make the world coherent. It’s like being dragged awake with gluey sleep, coma like, still clogging my insides. It’s like a violent shove. I can see the world outside from where I’m sitting and it makes me want to draw all the curtains. There isn’t enough caffeine and tobacco in the world at times to make me ready to face the day and its cheery minions. The thought of having to work makes me contemplate suicide. I should be allowed to pass the rest of my life in my sweatpants. I seriously am thinking about discontinuing my newspapers. There’s nothing I wish to read about the world, especially not this word vomit, not by people who can use hideous words such as snuck and not have it on their conscience. No one draws cherry trees or their blossoms. The world does not seem to miss these things. I have no real reason to be awake. I can’t think of a single person I’d want to talk to right now.