Moon, The Puppet Master

Dear Dysfunctional,
as I sit down to compose this days entry in my journal blog thingie, I cant help but wonder why the world is so different at night. Its as if the whole of it is just infinitely more serene, what with the inherent lack of motion and distracting figures that normally crowd my vision. But here, at night, I am in my element. My mind, normally so easily diverted from the task on hand, now hones itself into a sharp instrument with which I can accomplish my goals in a quarter of the time that it would take during the day. Besides, a quiet exhilaration arises in me at my freedom, so dearly bought with time precious set aside for the sleep I crave so desperately during the span of time that the sun occupies the sky. Indeed, night is also where my creativity is at its peak, where my mind can roam free, no longer chained to the senses which so assail it during the day. Perhaps the tales are true, that the moon has an influence on the human spirit; changing mans temperament by the waxing and waning of its silver visage. The etymology of the word lunacy illustrates man's belief in lunar power, and now I feel its influence on me, urging me to praise its gentle beams which so caress the earth during its brief reign, which it so graciously shares with its courtiers, the stars. Or perhaps I should stop reading prose before I go to bed. I think sixteenth century verse has an adverse effect on me.
Goodnight mush, and goodnight to the old lady whispering "hush",
George Melies