Closing Time.

"Closing Time" by Semisonic,

that old 90s rock ditty

is wedged in my brain

just a little bit.

I like it there,

because the song isn't

too happy, but it's pleasant.

It's about living and drinking

and not caring about the time

or the place.

And of course, knowing who

you want to take you home.

As the chorus so greatly depicts.

I could sit in the driveway

and talk for hours.

To these people who are

so splendid.

They make my heart burst,

for I love them so.

And if all else were

to fall away,

I wouldn't mind so much.

I don't want to go to sleep,

my mind is in its element.

I am in the mood to pull

and all-nighter,

but alas, I cannot.

For this gig that's ruining me

is ruining my night.

And I feel that it is not understood

among my household

that this "job" makes me upset.

Very horribly so.

People cannot be constantly upset.

It doesn't wear well on the mind.

It makes me jittery and tense

and very unpleasant to be with.

It makes me sad.

Occupations shouldn't fill you with dread.

I shouldn't (I'm fairly certain I shouldn't)

wake up and wish I was severely ill.

This happens and it makes me so

pained.

But I digress.

I want to stay up.

Write and think and read

and call people

and write letters.

Drink tea and make things

that are useless and colorful.

Play guitar (badly)

and look at the stars

and listen to the night.

It makes beautiful cooings

when you can hear past the air conditioners.

The night is the perfect time

to do everything.

But it never works that way.