I’ll
confess, I am a night owl like none other…….or at least I was. To my fiancé’s
most likely utter annoyance (or at least it will be once we get married) I
enjoy staying up till around the time when the best infomorcials are on
(roughly around 3-4). Unfortunately due to my packed schedule this summer/fall
I am unable to strive fulfill my inner night owl. An internship, two jobs,
writing and working on revival a literary journal can seriously hamper that. My
summer of 12 hour days have truly left me drained and exhausted even on those
days where I can slightly recoop (fortunately I gave myself one each week but
stuff is slowly sneaking in). I’m not going to lie, I am venting a little bit
from my extensive exhaustion like many, many, MANY other people do and I’m not
trying to get sympathy, just kinda throwing it out there. It brings me to one
of the most reoccurring moments I have, the struggle with external forces
regarding the sacred time of day known as sleep. It’s one of the only times
where my mind feels at ease (besides standing in the shower with hot water
cascading down my neck and back) and for a short time I don’t feel like I want to punt a salmon halfway
across the alps. So to me, sleep is a time for my mind to say “Hey, I’m resting
here, nobody bother me”. This isn't the case normally. This poem says it all
Sunday
By
Zach Moore
Morning sun peaks through cracked dusty blinds
Following
orders to spy on me for his supervisor
Birds
chirp their report, sending it off with the sun’s
‘God,
it’s the weekend” sighing
As
an old Irish limerick sings from my cell
Tugging
the fabric softener scented covers over my eyes,
I
roll onto my side, shutting out the early morning world
“Hell,
five more minutes never hurt”
I’m
sure everybody has had days like this before…….for me, it happens way to
frequently
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