Antsy and uncomfortable.

Grrr... of course now it's semi-late at night and i'm getting to my restless state of existence. I wish i were doing something useful, something that would, in some way, shape, or form, make me feel like i weren't wasting my night in this linoleum and too-bright-lights kitchen. I just feel itchy. I want to crawl out of my skin.

I could be drawing a flipbook of a man turning into a gorilla and the gorilla turning into an elephant and the elephant dancing a waltz.

I could be writing a story, a letter, an essay on why i don't like the dark.

I could be stuffing my bed full of clothes, hopping a bus to Seattle, finding a show for a band i've never heard of and, depending on what they sound like, will never hear again.

I could be making a video of all the things i love, all the things i hate, all the things that puzzle me or frighten me or make me want to stand up and go wash the dishes.

I could be playing a stunning kazoo rendition of a Nirvana Greatest Hits medley.

I could be drawing a picture of a capsized boat.

If i'd gotten started sooner, i could be bringing food to someone who needs it or love to someone who thinks they don't.

So of course the persisting thought, the ever-present question lurking as i type this is--you guessed it--

Why AREN'T you, then?

And the persisting thought, the ever-present answer is...

Because i'm