ah the perils of procrastination.

I mean, really - whatever am i doing? 11:30 on a Tuesday night, and i was meant to have written down at least 200 brilliant ideas by now. I love the way an evening can so easily fritter away to nothing. And yes, i realize that for many 11:30 is merely the beginning of a long and romantic encounter with insomnia - but not for me.

No, i slurp up sleep like a sorority girl does a jello shot. With giddy enthusiasm.

I long for my nightly trip to dreamland. In fact, so much do i long for it that i am far too organized, and my mind ends up plopping down at the departure gate at least 2 hours before flight. And though good intentions mean i pick up the work i packed, reality and excitement for the coming journey leave me daydreaming of nightdreaming.

Ideas will just have to wait till morning's arrival, bright and early at 6. That's when my best thinking seems to land anyhow. It must be something about the quiet streets i slip through on my way to work - the traces of yesterday and the hints of what could happen today - the sun rising on a dirty but gorgeous Chinatown sidewalk, the grande cafe americano with steamed milk that never fails to slosh up through the slot in the top and onto my waiting hand. Slurp, slurp.

So - evenings -- apathetic. And mornings -- poetic. And this post slightly ---- pathetic?!