sitting and thinking, oh, what a dangerous pastime.

I'm guilty of staying up late and looking for answers to questions that have no shape.

I'm guilty of listening to music and I'm guilty of random singing.

Sometimes, I don't know what I want, and sometimes that not knowing scares me.  Yet I find myself pushed onwards by that unknown.  "Do not go gentle into that good night."  All I'm certain of these days is my own solidity, my own existence, but once in a while even that becomes fuzzy.  Today, right now, all I'm certain of is that I'm wearing yellow penguin-patterned pajama bottoms and that I have to work from 1:45 until 10:15.  It's not the best job, but I do like the people I work with.  Evenings are so much more chill than the mornings at Timmy's, and the customers aren't likely to be in as big of a hurry or as sour a mood.

A friend of mine just found out she has "severe neoplasia"....doctor talk for tumours.  We don't yet know how serious it is, or how deep they are, or even if they're benign or malignant.  Last night a group of us got together where she's housesitting at and she broke the news to us.  I told her if she had to get treatment for the tumours and had to lose her hair, I would shave my head for her.  She probably thought it was a joke, but I promise this now:  If she ends up losing her hair, I will shave all of my hair off, or at least the majority of it.  I promise.

"And it came to me then, that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time."