Up Late.

I figure I should take advantage of my rampant insomnia by posting to mein blog. I don't know why every time I'm out of school my sleep schedule goes way off what is considered normal. I was so close to going to sleep before midnight and waking up while the time still reads A.M. Oh, well.

Anyway, I think the new fancy pants journal that looks older than time did the trick. I am writing and enjoying it again. (Hooray!) I also found a cheap-o fountain pen at Target that I already love. You see, fountain pens make me feel special. I can say, "I write with a fountain pen" and people say, "Oh wow! How cool." I love Target, too. It's like an upscale Walmart. I figure they sell the same things at the same prices, it just looks nicer at Target.

I'm only on page 4 of my new retro-journal and I've discovered that the longer I write the smaller my handwriting is. This is both good and bad news. Good: The journal will probably last forever. Bad: By the time I reach the end my handwriting will be so small I'll need a microscope to see it. But at least it will be finished. (Hashtag: Silver Lining)

There are many plot points I need to figure out. My novel, still titled The Hartigan War as of today, is rusty and dusty from years of neglect and needs a bit of a scrubbing. So I'm digging out my metaphorical rubber gloves and whipping out the book-scented Pine-Sol and getting to work. (On a side-note I think I might be developing OCD. Thanks a lot, Hoarders.)

Some things I would like to think about before finally getting to sleep:

• Why is the mother in my stories either dead, dying, or evil?
• Why do I call what I'm writing stories instead of novels? It is an aspiring novel after all, right? Right?
• Why does driving at night in an unknown area FREAK ME OUT?
• And most obviously: Why am I not asleep yet?

Perhaps when I wake up (12 hours from now) I shall have an answer to at least one of those.

Nighty night, fellow insomniacs.