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I Can't Sleep
September 2003

I can't sleep. Ok, that's not entirely accurate. I CAN sleep, I haven't forgotten how to go into an unconscious form, but I am not able to sleep when I WANT to sleep. I'd really like to lie down next to Mrs. Bastard at a time socially accepted to be 'sleepy-time', but I can't. It's as if mind and body were hibernating all day long while I was awake (this explains so much, you can't even begin to understand), then when I want to sleep, my mind and body come alive like fucking Frankenstein's monster with a piss hard boner. It's abnormal.

Around midnight, 11 central time, I'm all over the house, thinking about jogging, talking to myself, petting the cat, petting myself, writing rubbish then not saving it, eating junk food, and making foul odors. I read other people's journals, I read message boards, and sometimes I'll play a game or six. Most people read in bed to get to sleep but I get uncomfortable reading in bed, thus defeating the purpose of reading in bed to get to sleep, so I figure I'll read in my chair at my computer to try to get to sleep.

What a fucking strange sentence that was.

What ends up happening is I find something terribly funny or terribly horrible and I laugh all night long, regardless if it was funny or horrible. Before you know it, the sun is coming up, I have bags under my eyes, the cats are yelling at me to go to bed (or feed them, I don't speak cat so I can only guess at what they want) and I smell like a fat, sweaty, monkey doing the backstroke in the river next to a sewage treatment plant. But monkeys can't swim, so that analogy is really, really dumb.

What adds to my frustration is that I get all my creative energy at 3am. Prior to 3am, I don't want to do anything. Don't make me think, don't make me drive somewhere, don't try to make me understand something. I. Can't. Function. It's killing me, I want to sleep, but I also want to write or draw or build something. I think it'd be funny as hell to go out to my garage right about now and make some shelves with little patterns of monkeys playing hopscotch and throwing poo, but the neighbors would have me arrested. I'm not sure what law I'd be breaking, but my neighbors are all a billion years old and they vote.

I don't understand that logic. Just because old fuckers vote, you are bending to their every whim? Uhm…so…what about the rest of the voting population? What if all the old fuckers wanted a bill passed that required all senators to have their scrotums glued to the foreheads? Here's a thought. Those old fuckers and their voting…they aren't going to be around for much longer, could it be that the things they want done are only going to benefit them for a couple of weeks? What about the younger voters, the ones that will be around for the next election? Shouldn't their opinion matter 1000 times more than Granny's? Should we be looking toward the next decade or toward the next week?

Anyway, back to monkeys and my sleeping habits. Which have nothing to do with each other. It's 3am now, which is why I am writing all thing nonsense. And it is nonsense. I make no claim to being a writer; I don't even claim to be able to speak English. I just keep pushing buttons. I wish my keyboard had flashing lights and made BOOP noises once in a while. Oh wait…I still have some rum left. When all else fails, drink until you pass out. Stay here, I'll be right back. Bacardi Raspberry Twist and Orange soda. Well, it's not a vodka tonic and a blow job, but it should do the trick. Wow, this tastes like cough syrup, complete with horrible after taste, but without the fun of hacking up green lung parts.

I suppose drinking to go to sleep is probably a bad sign, but that all depends on whose bullshit opinion you want to listen to.

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