Oh sleep, how craftily you evade each of my clumsy advances.
I get this strong feeling that a sudden reinsertion into my familiar world of convenient comforts has overloaded my head (which isn’t very large to begin with). And thus, I have bought myself a ticket onto a train of thought that leads to the wrong town. I wanted to go to Sleep, but find myself on the path to Stare At The Ceiling And Think Winding Thoughts That Change Nothing And Will Be Forgotten By Morning-ville. I hate that place.
It doesn’t have any rest stops.
Anyway, I think my lifestyle makes me unhealthy. I don’t exercise anymore. I don’t eat well. I only see people when they initiate contact. I don’t make anything.
Instead, I read all the time and tell myself I’m getting smarter. I keep up on the latest politics and scientific news and am convinced these are the best means by which to keep myself cultured. I watch movies and do quite a bit of the literal nothing, and satisfy myself with the argument that I am relaxing. I have, after all, earned it.
But then I busted through the built-up facade, even if only for a couple of weeks, and got my old itch back. I want to write. I want to talk. I want to think, I mean really think. I want to create.
So maybe I shouldn’t be living life like I have been, in a perpetual state of comfort interjected by the occasional moments of discomfort. Perhaps I should constantly be uncomfortable, catch my breath once in a while with a rare yet rewarding comfort, and then get back to living.
I mean, man, I just fell really … . . cooped up. Isolated. Not quite myself (or at least I hope this isn’t “myself”).
Whatever. I can hear the whistle ‘n steam of the old engine, so it’s time get away from this introspective little stain on the psychological roadmap, and find my way back to the biologically-necessary Sleep. Return tickets ain’t cheap.
I will forget the phenomenon of this spirit by first light tomorrow.
Hopefully I won’t lose that feeling, though.
1 year ago • 0 notes