Five Years from Now

A shout out to the people slumming it with me.


Oh, Sleep, Fucking Sleep

I realized yesterday that I don’t remember the last time I’ve had a full week of going to bed at a certain time, getting seven-or-eight hours of sweet oblivious dreamy relaxing sleep, and then waking up at a certain time. My mind doesn’t tend to prioritize sleep above many other things, but these things are so hard to do when my sleeping patterns spin out of control and I find myself REM-less and gormless due to its lack. This is where I am right now, clumsy and slow of thought, because last night I spent a sweaty, tossy-turny four hours praying to whatever overlord is in charge of this kind of thing–Orpheus, I guess–to let me get but a little rest before I had to start today; I have so much that needs doing when my neuro-chemicals are functioning properly, and they’re just not when I’m trapped in these insomniatic webs. It’s not a mania; manias are fun times compared to this, where my neuro-chemicals frolic spastically during the absence of sleep, thumbing their noses at traditional routines and creating there own world of fun. Oh, sure, there’s risk-taking–everything from bravado to libido decides to take the wheel for a while, but if you’re lucky you enjoy yourself and come out unscathed and unembarrassed…though almost always fiscally poorer. This, though, is a paralyzing exhaustion. Exhausted during the day, I force myself to stay awake–which takes all and every effort–and exhausted during the night, I try to keep the intrusive thoughts of the perfectly good day I’ve wasted doing nothing but staying awake so that I can SLEEP now, the irony being that the guilt over lack of daytime accomplishments is now keeping me awake. I need a hardware off-switch; this software malarkey just doesn’t work for me.


Because it moves on

and lament for something lost is whining.

I don’t want to be that beggar-pleader;

I’ll stick to being open to the comeround when it happens

Pathetic, yes, I’ve never not been thought of as such.

I have trouble moving on.

And I even feel bad for the people trying to move me on

With their pointed hurts, ignoring of what I know is inside them, the suppression of good feelings in favour of current happinesses.

A strong man could take it better than I, the hints not biting so hard, maybe even angry-making, world-ending.

But I understand, and that is my weakness; always I get the point of view of the other

Sometimes too late, but I accept it

And in time forgive it.

Oh to be strong in conviction.