i bought a blank notebook once. it isn’t blank anymore. i've filled pages of it with things meant to be shared with an "appropriate audience" when the time comes. but the time never comes. so they'll never be shared. sharing is caring, except when it is not — like sharing a lie and watching the truth get casually mauled in the background noise we call life. shared interests bring people together; that doesn’t mean they stay.

even when i'm awake, i'm asleep. once, i dreamt my life was a lie — except it was real. i knew it was the moment i woke up. sort of. maybe i am asleep a sheep. what's the singular of a herd of sheep? a shoop?

i heard i was part of a herd once. i need not be reminded again. the herd wakes up at 7; i don't. which is why i am always late to parties i am not invited to.

it's because i wake up at 8.