  Last night was to be a glorious blog post, but a quick passout after seven hours of beer drinking limited my typing ability. There's no reason to try and tie down the way life works. Some days feel better than others, and some days have good and bad, and some days are just all good and you do all bad, and some days are all bad that feel all good. Yesterday I spent an incredibly small time outdoors, I wrote no screenplay pages, and while I made steadfast progress on my thesis, little of it will I keep. Yet pizza at the Parlor, followed by beers and more beers with the neigbhors, and I enjoyed the second best night of sleep I've had all year.
The first? The night before. Lucid dreams, full of vibrance and life and shit going on and feeling real and obviously not but the kind of dreams you just want to stay in and enjoy like a story. Sleep that ends at an hour that you wish was earlier, but can't bemoan, because you lost consciousness, then immediately had it again, and it was of that lateness. 
