written last night

Approaching 12 a.m. I have four pages, heavy eyelids, and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band coming through the headphones. So far we have lay on the floor, had two brief dance parties, laughed manically, and crashed.
I have four pages of the most honest writing I've ever produced. Stream of consciousness sprinkled sparsely with noteworthy information about NGOs and the "state of things". The t h i n g s and their s t a t e are pretty bad off and if there's white guilt does that mean there is white responsibility?
If this guilt is loaded on to you and you struggle with this new weight, what are you expected to do – a woman who is still carrying around old for all the other things she assumes she needs to feel guilty about? A woman who talks about how the oppressed are numbed out and dumbed down by having to work too much to make t h e i r own ends m e e t, but can be numb herself coming home from a day of classes and a night of work and, god, dragging herself to bed is as big an accomplishment and as much of a relief as reinstating student aide for all and righting the wrongs of Social Security.

Is this me making excuses?
Is that question proof that something hasn't connected right in my brain? That I'm not looking at it in the right way?

12:05 a.m. and my paper is such that the above would fit in well. Let them know. Let them know that I'm confused, that I don't know what's left or right, and sometimes when I walk uphill I end up falling down. Let them know that I am a woman who's trying hard and grateful she's doing that much at least… because a step is a step. Let them know their program is working.

The clock on the computer reads 00:04. A count up to the paper has begun. I never thought about it, that 12 a.m. must be 00 on a 24 hour clock. And, at this hour…. Or at this no hour?? This seems kind of funny. Zeros are funny things. Representing nothing but symbolic representations of anything that comes full circle, is complete, and sustaining.