Its five am with so many thoughts through my head that my tongue cannot articulate and my only hope is my fingers on a keyboard.

I'm yawning and I'm tearing up but not from pain oh not this time, just from sleep deprivation caused by my love and affection and affliction against slumber.

Not far from now I'll likely nap on the couch, sincerely because I have nothing better to do, but for now I will write deliriously in hopes to make sense out of my late night or early morning musings, whatever you prefer to call this time of day.

My hair is soft and my eyes are heavy, heavy with the weight of the world and myself and all the madness surrounding me.

Why do I wake so early, why do I let things get this far?

Because I'm crazy. I could always go back to sleep, but I'm crazy. Maybe not exactly a bad crazy but the type of crazy that keeps you on the end of your seat and keeps butterflies in your stomach and keeps air in your lungs. I'm the living, breathing crazy, the fun crazy, the crazy he loves, and I don't understand it but I accept it.

That's the crazy thing so far about this year, I've been kicking the bucket when it comes to overcoming the crazy. I just seem to accept it more. So many things have happened outside of my control, and it stirs up the crazy, but there's nothing I can do. I just have to breathe that in and out until I am filled with it. Sometimes there is simply nothing I can do. And that's ok.

The trees are dark outside and I'm tired and alone and my eyes need resting and I'm still crazy.

But all of that is acceptable, as long as I manage to rest my weary heart and, just for a little while, sleep at 5:30.