Desmond and Worm Journalism.

It is nearly 6am, and having just woken from what must have been the world's sorriest excuse for Sleep, I am awake.

It is as it sounds -- World, I am awake.

And while Awoken Workers work, and Awoken Birds catch worms... somewhere on (in) this earth, Awoken Worms curse their sorry excuse for an early morn' walk. The irony? While the massacre happens, Awoken Bloggers make light of dying worms. We are Worm Journalists: Morbid, Cruel, and Awake.

I'm certain I will pay for this predawn musings later in the day, but I have given in to sleepless-ness. The sheep is counted and the milk is drunk, but the mind still wanders.

Maybe writing is the lullaby of the mind. For Worm Journalists, Writing is Counting Sheep. Writing is methodical. Who dies? Where? From What? How? Why? Why, why, why in the world, am I awake.

My writing is done. My mind is tired.
And I quit.

(But really, the resignation is necessary. This individual has been leeching wifi for almost an hour now. He requests that you look at his Morbidity, Cruelty and general Awake-ness, instead of judging him for leeching. Journalism is tough.)