So there I was, an hour ago, lying in my bed and staring at the darkness and imagining that maybe just maybe I would get five hours of sleep. Yeah what a crock. At 4:38am I gave up and came out to the computer and wrote a terrific post about my lack of sleep. It was even funny and had sailors and hos in it. Trust me, nothing is more creative than a mind that is stoned on lack of sleep.
I previewed and I edited and I previewed and I hit back and my post was gone. Just gone. For the record, I disrecommend the preview button. I’m pissed.
So I typed a short rant, shut down the computer and went to bed. Again. For the third time. And still, more ceiling in the darkness, more cat petting and more mind going clickclickclick.
The beauty of this is that in my previous post I had mentioned how much I missed my drug habit. If I still smoked a couple of joints a night I would be sleeping like a baby right now. But no, I had to get mature and stop keeping dope in the house [no will power, if i can get at it i’ll smoke it]. I would be oblivious right now if I kept dope in the house in fact.
Then I REMEMBERED. My pal was here the other day and we did bong hits with his hash in my bong. Not only that but he said something about ‘you can finish this off later’ and I FORGOT about it. Until 5:28 this morning that is when my brain remembered this wonderful occurence. So I got up and came out here and there it was. A perfect little go to sleep hit waiting in my bong. So I figured I would blog while I distracted my brain and smoked the hash and then went back to bed.
So yeah. I knocked over the bong after the first toke. Fortunately it was a good toke but still. It’s not my night is it? I have to be up in 4 hours. 4 hours and 10 minutes if I don’t go to Second Cup and get coffee. And then I have manual labour to do all day. This is tragic.
Anyway I sorta swabbed the crap off my desk and stuck it back in and got a bit more of it… and a few other things besides. Wonder what they are. Don’t care, do wonder.
If only sleep were like sailing eastward on the ocean. You know that you’re going to hit land eventually, you just hope that it’s before the food runs out and that you don’t HIT the land you just sort of see it and then aim at a port. But sleep with a deadline isn’t anything like that. It’s a desperate attempt to reach sleep in a reasonable amount of time before you have no chance of having a good day the next day. I’ve passed my marker at this point. Tomorrow is just going to be a fucked up day no matter what.
You lie there and you count the minutes and you imagine that you can relax yourself enough that you can do it.
You try to play the alphabetical animals game.
You try to fantasize about the man who makes you blush and smile when he touches you.
You pet your cat and imagine that she will put you to sleep with her purring.
You contemplate orgasm but you can tell your body would be more awake not less.
You think about how pissed you are at the West Wing and your intention to blog it [As IF! Who are they kidding ‘leo must have left already’… you’re at camp fucking david with a peace summit. Of course no one’s checking the gates and absolutely no one is patrolling the grounds. Not to mention that the press secretary gets to be the chief of staff now. I see sharks jumping.]
You try to blog to get your mind off things and delete your post.
More cat petting.
More man daydreaming.
More wishing for sleep
More wishing for sleep.
More dreaming, fantasizing, bribing the gods for sleep.
God I hope the drugs work.