A fistful of dandelions.

I'm not sure what it is, but I tend to do most of my best thinking/writing when everyone else is sleeping. I shoul be too, but hey, it's Spring Break, and I don't have to be up until 11 tomorrow. (Normally I'd say about 1, but I have a lunch date with Sailor and an uncle with a perky determination to make him cry.)

Indeed, Spring Break. A time to stop, relax, take a deep breath. I have no homework due on Monday.

Yet, tragically, it seems difficult to actually find down time. Friday afternoon I was supposed to do something or other with Sailor, but my Mother called me with a sense of urgency that made me feel unbearably guilty. "I need you to watch your sister. I have to run out and see a patient and no one else is available."

Did I want to do it? Of course not. I'm a 17 year old, looking to spend time with the boyfriend. But did I do it? Yes. Of course.

As it turns out, the day was not wasted. I spent my time at my house with Tillbird, waiting for Sailor to arrive. "Kaitlin, can we go to the pink park?"

"I don't know; the pink park is kinda far."

"You're no fun. Daddy takes me to the pink park. You're the meanest sister in all the world." Tillbird meets my gaze, lower lip juttig toward me in defiance. She places one arm over the other, in a matter in which a five year old crosses their arms.

"You don't mean that, sweetie." I smile sweetly and glance absentmindedly at my watch, out the door, waiting for our guest to arrive and ease the tension.

"Yes I do! Meanie!"

"I never said we couldn't go to a park! Just not the pink park."

Tillbird drops her arms to her sides, bobs her head like a caricature of Michelle Tanner. "Well you didn't say that earlier!"

My patience ticks away with every second. Glance at my watch. "Just come upstairs so we can get your shoes." She defiantly hmmphs in my direction and tromps up the stairs in front of me as my phone buzzes. "Here," the screen reads, and I look over at the door and see Sailor staring at me through the glass.

Tillbird gasps with excitement. "He's here?!" She exclaims, "Will HE take me to the pink park?!"

"No one is going to the pink park," I send her down the stairs to be greeted by Sailor, who greets her as he pulls off his shoes. Never have I seen a little girl more infatuated with a teenage boy. She smiles sweetly at him, acts like an angel for him, draws him pictures of kittens lined up in circles. "Will you please sit with her while I do something?" I call down to him.

"No problem," is the response, muffled already by the floor between us.

I gathered up Tillbird's things, and while doing that, I realised maybe that in the moment I was stressing about the pink park, maybe I should be relaxing. After all, no one's asking me to write a research paper, or take a test on WWII. My little sister wants to go to the park with me and my boyfriend in tow. I should be willing to go along for the ride.

Downstairs I throw my necessities into a small purse. Sailor is beaming at me, perched on the edge of the ottoman with a dandelion tucked in his thick hair. "How do I look?" he muses, the corner of his mouth drawn up, expecting a snarky response.

"It suits you." I put on my sunglasses, grabbing my keys.

"Hipster." He teases, motioning to my sunglasses.

I stick my tongue out at him and gather up my sister. "I gave him that flower," says Tillbird, seeming quite pleased with herself.

I motion for them to leave the house, gently urging them out the door so I can lock it behind us. "C'mon, let's go to the park." Till grabs my hand and grins, and as I walk down my porch steps, I figure that doing things that seem stressful can be fun. But only if you have the right attitude.

Electric sheep.

Sometimes, it can be amusing to allow your thoughts to meander about your brain at 11:30 on a Thursday, a school night. But usually, it's a sign of a restless, anxious mind. I'm having trouble deciding which category I'm falling into.

I stay up pretty late, most nights - as is made evident by the sweeps of deep purple under my eyes. Everyone that I normally talk to goes to bed, and I find myself becoming envious. Hell, Sailor wishes me goodnight every night promptly in the 10 o clock to 10:30 range, turns over in bed, and is presumably fast asleep in a matter of minutes. I send a half-hearted goodnight, see you tomorrow, etc, etc, etc. I lay in bed, turn over, turn back, switch positions, become frustrated and ultimately sit up again.

I enjoy it when I have a good excuse for sleep deprivation. For example, Tech Week. Staying at the school every night until 10-10:30 is usually a bonafide excuse to teachers. You find yourself, with weighted eyelids and unwilling limbs, passed out on your Biology notes during a presentation on cell respiration. Three minutes before the bell for third block sounds, your seat partner nudges you awake, the teacher is looking at you with unbearably kind eyes. "Tech Week?"

Your response sounds as though the sound were traveling through wet pebbles. "Mmmhmm."

I wish I had an excuse for my regular lack of sleep. Insomnia? No - probably not. I think maybe my mind just works to anxiously. My thoughts don't behave in a nice, streamlined way. They're either pleasant and complacent, or they jolt about at a rate with which I can't keep up.

Did I turn in my Art and Society paper? Yes. Okay. Good. Was it good? Maybe. I hope so. Damn, I have to do research for my research paper. Okay. Where? Internet? Feminism in the 1960s, good topic? No, broad. Go tighter. Focus? Am I focused? I'm bored. Maybe I should check Facebook again.

I've reached the point where I absentmindedly focus on different points in my bedroom. I look through them, into myself. How many more hours till I get up to school? Maybe I'll try counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six.