sometimes i don’t write because i can’t pull enough feelings into these words. mostly, though, i just don’t write because i’m tired. tired to the point of perpetual exhaustion. on the rare occasions when my alarm doesn’t go off, i sleep for 12 hours non-stop before i wake up on my own. really, it’s true. 12 hours. sometimes i wonder how many nights in a row i could sleep for 12 hours before i would be caught up on sleep. and then, it makes me a little sad because there is no chance for me to ever find out how long it would take to get rested again. monday comes too soon. weekdays are work. weekends are cleaning-laundry-groceryshopping-cooking. and then it starts all over again, in an endless loop, one week into the weekend into the next week. overandoverandover. and over again.