I have a singular ability to force myself to sleep until well past any rational hour. I woke up, by slow degrees, and eventually realized that it was 3pm. Hours of languid dreaming had been interspersed with visions of my covers and walls as I slipped briefly into consciousness and then slowly dissolved away once more, like a submarine subtly raising its scope to check the sunlit world for life.

Nostalgia makes me sleep so. There was a period when I obeyed the harsh dictums of no alarm clock, and could rise as late or early as I wished. Those years are long gone now, scattered like dust before the winds of industry, but I miss them still. And so, on occasion, I sleep in, to drowse and turn and idly spend the morning and early afternoon hours indulging in dreams. They whorl and curl into each other like plumes of smoke.

Also, I have just rocked out to Guitar hero, and am feeling righteous. Time for tequila!