Logic.

I don't know where I decided that life was going to make sense. Because it doesn't. Doesn't make sense to be up at 2:30. I should be sleeping because why not? And why can't I work just one more day? And why do little things remind me of big things? None of this makes sense. It doesn't make sense that sad movies, and rearranging my room, and buying new boots can't distract me long enough to look in the other direction and move forward. I just keep thinking about things that don't make sense and really don't persuade me to accomplish anything. I keep thinking and thinking and then I don't sleep. Accomplishment comes from the cleaning and the blogging and the shopping, not from solving anything real. And it's 2:30 and I am not sleeping and that doesn't make sense.