Have you ever found yourself stairing at the ceiling at five a.m. knowing that you have to be up the next day and coherent enough to make it through a set of tasks you dread, but your head just wont stop buzzing with a seemingly infinite number of thoughts and worries and hopes and... and... giberish. It never seems to coalesce into anything worth mentioning except for a few sleep-deprived delusions the next day. Except on that rare occasion when that nervous energy focuses enough to get something done. Dishes. A report. A re-arranged room. Maybe, just maybe, a poem. Which sometimes can be enough to let it all go or at least give you enough of a boost to make it through another day. I've never liked doing things just to make it from day to day. That seems all wrong. If you never focus on anything but tommorow, well... all those cliches about missing today. Seems a grand way to find yourself eventually staring back and wasting the rest of your time regreting what never happened. The best you can hope for then is that you might make it as a non-fiction writer. Heh.