Waking Up in Bogota

This morning, a car outside was playing fiesta music. I mean the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re waking up in a commercial. It’s bright as hell in the apartment, and somewhere nearby there’s an important convention of emergency vehicles.

I don’t really feel like writing a god damn thing. I really just want to go back to sleep. Too bad I can’t. Too bad. 

I remember thinking last night that I am getting too wound up and I better just relax again and forget the feeling that I’ve done nothing of import in thirty years. I usually forget stuff like that in the morning.