Two and fifty of the mornevening

Yeah, so I should be writing a paper right now, but i can't make myself do it just yet, so, here I am.

Allow me to wax philosophical for a bit. (I do this at this time of day.) I find it amazing how much abuse the human body can actually take. I'm pretty sure I'm chronically deprived of sleep this week, and yet I continue to be able to make my body forge forward through yet another all-nighter. I churn out word after word, paragraph after paragraph, papers flowing from my mind to my fingers to the keyboard to the screen. Hours of this. Listening to my music. Dashboard Confessional resounds while I analyze the poetry of E.E. Cummings. My desk lamp casts strange shadows on my keyboard, and outside the circle of its light everything is blurred. I am the center of the sphere of light that is my universe. Zen poetry. Images from my evening or morning or whatnot: MountainDewAcetaminophenWristwatch. A thirty sided die reflects the the glow of a Light Emitting Diode on the keyboard of the computer I'm using to write a paper about poetry. I blog it.

I am Pangeek.

Now all I need to do is be funny.