Insomnia births profundity

I mean, I know I used to be alternative, with my black cut-off T-shirts and my long khaki shorts. I scrunched my socks down just enough to get a nice little tan on my knee caps. 

I was able to recognize other alternative people and go towards them.

And they, in turn, saw me for what I was and welcomed me.

We all stood there not talking, in the way that people who ooze cool can stand for long periods of time without talking, but without anyone feeling awkward. 


Then they walked away and forgot to take me with them.

It's not that.


It's that I went to the grocery store, the little one where all the customers smell like doe piss and don't believe in teeth.


And I noticed something.

I knew then that a truth I had long been avoiding had at last come home to roost.


I'm not alternative anymore.


I'm mainstream.

I so wanted this conversation with the moon to really go somewhere, you know?


Like one of those profound ones, those ones where I slap eyes and arms on some inanimate object and tell it my problems, and then it ends with a hug.


Do you realize how many of my posts end in some kind of hug?


I don't even like hugs.


Does anyone out there know if Prozac makes you like hugs??


That would be gross.


I'm sad because I wanted the moon to get around to talking about its "dark side", and then I was going to ask it what its dark side was, and it was going to say, "Mah butt."


While I was putting the students on the bus, the idea of the moon saying "Mah butt" struck me as hilarious. 


Now, all typed out and literal like that, it just seems...I don't know....a little childish. 


Lemme see.....

HAAHAHAHHAA...oh goodness, yes....nope, it's gold


Now with wiggling moon buns:

Ha ha......


I should have finished this post right then, but I left it, and now hours later, I can't pick up the strand of it again.


......oh wait, things with butts.

I guess my genius never slumbers long.