sparrows.

and it's a sailor in a new port every night,
yet man was born to trouble,
like sparks fly upward -
innocent.

Most days, my to-do list is respectably lengthy and not terribly elastic: laundry, homework, studying, babysitting... the studying alone takes hours. A single chapter of criminology textbook will take me a day to absorb, minus six or seven hours of sleep.
sleep's becoming more uneasy every night. Stress, maybe - but I box it out in the gym and feel alright. I watch Toy Story, NCIS, an old Clint Eastwood or sci-fi flick, and I'm far gone enough in the imagination to deal with the frustration of waking every hour for no apparent reason.

But some days, I'm just... fine. My agenda is packed, my books are all over my desk, my pen's out of ink, and I haven't eaten in a while, but I... don't care (for lack of a better way to say that.) I might very well have a pop quiz tomorrow over sixty pages of material I haven't read, but that's okay.

This doesn't happen to me very often, this feeling of complete contentment with the world. In my chaotic head, where priorities, dates, and stresses are constantly swirling around, there's not much clarity. But occasionally, everything lines up in the proper way to create the numb - like a recipe for enchiladas that went absolutely perfect, or the turn signals of two cars blinking three or four times in perfect unison before falling out of sync again.

Until tomorrow, I am at complete peace with the world.

----

I've got sparrows on the mind.

quiet, but I'm sure...
there is something here.