For a week or more I’ve been trying and failing to be a good boy. Good intention, but each night I’m awake anyway until four or five. Waking as late as 2. Again tonight. I wore myself down piecing together the Phoenician sequel to the Sumerian investigation, and (if you’re paying really close attention), finally shaping up and hitting Publish on the two days’ previous spillage as well.

Appropriately weary then, about midnight or one, I settled in to something mindless and distractng–for an hour, I said to myself. Then crash hard.

It’s 6:30 and I don’t feel very sleepy. This is going in the wrong direction.

So fuck it. I’m staying up, tracking the sun into the new day, tracing the spill into a new post. I have things to do. A necessary shelf in the bathroom that’ll take me five minutes. A desk full of crap to set right. A shopping run of suddenly unexpected proportion. By noon I’ll be in that twilight state, but so what? Another pot of coffee, that’s what. And when the sun is going down in twelve hours, maybe I’ll finally be ready to sink for real too.