It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m still awake for a number of reasons which cannot be expressed to the Internet, but which mostly concern too many thoughts and a book too good to stop reading.
Also, my right arm is sore. Just my right arm, and for no reason that I can think of. That’s keeping me awake, too.
It’s not unpleasant, being awake.
I haven’t been this way since college: giddy with sleeplessness and with the largeness of the early morning.
What I want to do is to put on running clothes and go outside while the people of DC still sleep, dreaming of the bottomless mimosas and eggs benedict they’ll order for Sunday brunch.
But a city is not conducive to dark-street running.
Or rather, I am not conducive to dark-street running in a city.
So I’m here, in a bed in an apartment in a city, solely conscious, and unwilling to surrender my title.