2:19 am

Maybe I'm tired. Maybe the small amount of pure icing sugar I snacked on while baking has gone to me head. Maybe the raw egg in the cake batter is making me weird. Whatever maybe is, all I know is that for some reason I'm in a mood.

Maybe it was my viewing of season one of Grey's Anatomy.

Moods like this don't happen often, thank you very much, but when they do, it's something I don't want to let go. It's the kind of mood where you're philosophical, creative, melencholic, selfless, selfish, exhausted, energetic, light-light headed, and not quite ready to call it a day. As you can see, I don't get these often.

I feel like I have an internal dialogue going 16 hours a day that makes constant comments, asks numerous questions, and has many concerns that are not my own. Today I had thoughts that I would never have dared had on my own, as they were rather prejudice and I am completely against that. I found myself critisizing myself and others for nothing, stuff that I normally don't care about. It was like this voice had been trapped up too long and it needed to say something. So I let it, in my head. Yes. I think I am crazy.

I baked tonight. I felt like I was actually doing something worth while for a change. I got a result that I wanted and I felt pleased. No disappointing mark on a paper I worked hard on, no trying to talk to an abusive father who doesn't believe you exist, no barage of problems that you can't do anything about because they aren't your own, no whiny idiot 400 kilometres away complaining about his perfect life. I felt pleased and at rest for the first time in a long while.

Now, here I am in the wee hours of the morning not wanting to go to bed because of this mood. I want to write, but I don't know what. I want to talk, but I don't know to who. I am content and I don't want that to go away when the alarm clock goes off. I must though, sadly, because without sleep, one can not function. One cannot get through the day.

Pity.

So, here I go. I'll allow this to last just a bit longer and go to sleep at three. Until then, I'll be in my bed critiquing pieces of artwork that my fellow classmates have written on symbolism. Seven o' clock comes way too early in the morning, and there's a bakesale to run. Classes to attend. A life to live.

If only these moods, these moments, would last a little longer... maybe then pink mist wouldn't bother me so much.