Dear Diary..

Dear diary, what a day it's been
Dear diary, it's been just like a dream
Woke up too late, wasn't where I should've been
For goodness sake, what's happening to me?
Write lightly,
Yours truly..

Dear diary,
It's worse that I thought. The face in the mirror today, bloodshot, unshaven, unkempt. Alarm still ringing in my ears. The red numbers tell me it's too early to be awake. The sun is still asleep. Desk is a mess, books, papers, dinner from three nights ago, where did this come from? Mind is groggy and messy like my hair. Like my desk. Now the numbers tell me I should have started half an hour ago. This pile of papers will be the death of me.

Some days my desk is the chariot of freedom, the page my only escape. Not today. Today the lined paper is my cage, the chains that bind and restrain me. 

See that? Should've saved that one for the blog. I could be blogging right now. Ugh, don't remind me. Distracted. Coffee's probably cold by now. I really need to get to work instead of writing about how I need to get to work.

The fiery oranges and soft yellows creeping over the horizon makes me smile even from behind the locked and closed window. Even that was halfway artistic. The sky's a canvas right now, the grass shimmering in the sunlight, wet with the morning dew. A breath of rain still lingers in the fresh, crisp air. At least I think so. I can't tell from in here.

What if I went outside real quick? The silence in here is so loud right now, just the sounds of the morning might cure me of the stale life I'm living. What I wouldn't give to go outside. To be free for five minutes. To be me for five minutes. Anything is better than this. But I've already wasted enough time. I should've started an hour ago. But five more minutes never killed anybody. Only five minutes, I swea--