Insomnia Part Two

I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep at all. My brain won’t shut off and I keep thinking about the same thing. And wouldn’t you like to know what that thing is.

I’m watching some Richard Gere “charms a girl with his timeless good looks and grey hair” movie.

I just really want to sleep. Peaceful sleep. Untroubled. I usually can’t sleep if I’m sad. Well I guess it’s a specific sort of sad. I dunno.

I’ve been trying to make everyday count. Because I know someday I’ll look back on all the time I wasted and hate myself. So I would like to prevent that. Like today, I sat outside for a long time, played the uke, took a walk with my brother, worked out, read a few books, blogged, applied for some jobs. Just anything productive that I could think of I guess.

His love interest just died. Awww.

Anyways, yeah, productive things. So that’s good, right? I feel like I ask rhetorical questions that end in right alot. I really want some banana chocolate chip pancakes right now. Really badly. Or blueberry. Meh. Any pancakes. Hm. Pancakes.

I washed my sheets and blankets today and I used too much fabric softener and now I’m pretty congested and stuffy. Things that are not conducive to sleep. You know what would be conducive to sleep? Pancakes. Or something.

Ow. My head.

At this point I’m just rambling. And I don’t know why I’m doing it on my blog.
Do you ever have trouble letting go of stuff? I mean anything. Pictures, people, food. For me it’s memories. If I have a perfect day I’ll try and relive it in my head as much as I can. But eventually I start to forget details about the day no matter how hard I try and hold on to them. What something felt like or what someone said or what their laugh sounded like. Smells and tastes. They fade away. And it scares me alot how fickle memories can be because what if I never see that person again and then all I’m left with is a bunch of fuzzy remembrances.

That’s why I like pictures so much. It’s a concrete thing. You can preserve it and then at least you have that. Various people groups around the world believed or still do believe that when someone took a photograph of you, a bit of your soul went with it. I mean I don’t agree with that but in some way when you take a picture, that person in that frame in that specific time, lives on. You have a bit if them. So I’ll continue to be a picture hoarder because who knows when I might want to look back.

It’s 5:21 in the AM. I really shouldn’t be posting all of my deliriously exhausted thoughts. So I’m going to try and sleep now.



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