n'est pas

Let me know if this is an episode of the Twilight Zone, because something feels off. I'm at work on a Saturday and not ready to face people much less carry on a conversation thanks to my sporatic insomnia, though last night I actually spent most of my allotted sleeping time writing a very long letter to Sara Jane. Looking at the mess I ignore and the caffiene that is in charge of my system I make a note not to venture near any rivers. It gets to the best of us.