The Clock Reads 5:44 a.m.

5:30 a.m. IM conversations are best partaken of when you've already tried sleeping twice, and have given up both times, first to read philosophy for class in the (early) morning, and second to organize the episodes of The Colbert Report stored away on the computer.

They're great (the conversations, although The Colbert Report is great too), because all participants are tired, so filters are down, and syntax isn't quite clickin', either. The conversation inevitably leads to Myspace and a quick rush of comment battling. (For those of you unfamiliar with the cultural tenets of Myspace, I'm sure you're all thoroughly and sadly confused. Don't worry about it, just be glad you are completely unaware of the drama inherent in such a beast. Merciful heavens, I love it.)

And then, in the midst of comment battling, I discover an anonymous e-mail in my inbox. I click to open it and discover...poetry. Yes, that is right. Someone I do not know e-mailed me poetry in the middle of the night. And that's pretty much why I'm still up; I'm just waiting for the next great thing to happen.