I feel.

I feel wonderful.

I woke at 6:30 this morning, because I had to catch the 7:45 bus to school. I didn't want to get up so I tried to reset my alarm to 7, for an extra half hour of snoozing. The buzzer kept going off anyway, even though the little hand was no where near the alarm hand. "Oh crafty alarm clock," I thought to myself, "You have bested me again."

It was dark at the bus stop but I felt lovely and fresh, even though my nose was extraordinarily cold. When we were driving I was looking at the little hills covered in snow and thought they looked just like the sand dunes at home in the dimness of the morning.

I just got home from the Christmas party at school. I did not enjoy that. I'm tired of standing on the edge of a group pretending to have friends. But I'm going home so soon.

I left a little early so I could run to the shop to get shampoo, toothpaste and cashew nuts before my bus arrived. I slipped on the icy path and laughed very loudly. People looked at me like I was crazy.

It's very windy outside and it's swirling the snow around as it falls, and blowing it off the roof in huge sheets. It's all very pretty.

I'm content, and I'm looking forward to a cosy family Christmas and an explosive New Years Eve.

Life is glorious.

So here's me.

So here's me taking a break from writing to... Write.

Well, I don't know what else I expected. Writing is all I can do.

I feel a bit like I'm going insane, but I expect that's down to being sick and exhausted. My sleeping patterns are all messed up again. I am tired, but I can't sleep. I tried. I can't.

It's 4:30am.

Last night I was at the window watching the snow falling and crying. I didn't remember how I got there. I'd been on the couch moments before.

An hour ago I found myself standing up, holding a plate in one had and a sandwich in the other, watching one of the cats playing with a bug it'd found. I don't remember making a sandwich.

Maybe I'm sleep walking or something.

I have this weird sensation of time passing really really slowly, but also incredibly fast. I've had it before, many times. It makes me feel queezy.

I'm writing my SRP still but it's difficult it's turning into a debate. I'm arguing with myself about Nature vs. Nurture, Savagery vs. Civilization, Good vs. Evil.

I feel young, but not in the carefree, I-have-my-whole-life-ahead-of-me (which I do) way. It's different. It's strange.

I'm sick of thinking and writing sequentially. Life isn't like that. Not really.

Have I been watching too much Ashes to Ashes?