This morning…
a tiny glial cell
slithering along
on my prefrontal cortex
simply minding its
own beeswax
took a long hard look at
a sad little bad little synapse
and ate it.

Tomorrow…
faced with the same choice
of getting up and painting out
the mouldy spots on the ceiling
or going back to sleep
till lunchtime
it is 1.39 times as likely that
I shall make the same sad
bad decision.