...who knows that it would be more comfortable to sit on my person than the cold, dusty floor. So I am left with no choice but to run around like an idiot as I try to avoid its enormous ass as it tries to crush me or I can attempt to hide in a secluded second-story room where I know the elephant cannot possibly follow me. After all, how would an elephant climb the stairs to get up there let alone fit its wide load in the front door?
That's right. It's 3AM and sleep is nowhere in sight. Sure, I can lie here and stare at the ceiling and listen to the clock as it tolls away the hours - but what fun is that? I'm supposed to be writing 1,000 words or so per day to keep the mental tools sharpened, but I've been seriously lagging behind on that front as of late. I'm depressed and there's no use denying it. I can't sleep, I don't want to eat, and I don't particularly care to do much of anything. It's even less fun than it sounds, let me tell you. At any rate, I'm supposed to be heading over the river and through the woods (or city) to the Philadelphia Museum of Art in a matter of hours, so I will now resume burying my face in a nearby pillow in a feeble attempt to get some sleep before that happens. G'night - or Good Mornin' depending on your reference point.
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