I didn’t go to bed last night. The night before I slept for two hours because I promised my dad I’d get up and drive him to his last day at a course he had to take so that he can one day get his suspended driver’s license back. Sometimes I think it’s not the best idea for him to be allowed to drive ever again but that’s a whole other story and mostly I just want him to be okay again, if he ever was.
Am I okay? Sometimes I think yes, but then other times I’m so clearly not. I sleep all day then go to work in the evenings, then come home and stay up all night reading books and blogs and watching cartoons on television that are meant for twelve year olds and generally wasting time because I want so bad to just create something but I can never figure out what it should be so I do nothing.
I have friends, I have hobbies, I have a life, but those sorts of things only matter when you’re experiencing them. The hardest thing to do is to be happy without distraction. To be yourself by yourself and be comfortable with that. I stay awake until I run out of things to do and then once I fall asleep I don’t want to wake up again. I have problems with momentum.
I forget where I was going with this now. Every thing starts to get disjointed as you approach the forty-hour mark and you keep seeing flashes in your peripheral vision like little patches of self illuminating reality and you start getting so tired that you’re awake again and then eventually you get to forty-eight hours and pass out lying on a fork. All the you’s and your’s in that last sentence should be replaced with I’s.
I think my point in the beginning was that fuck I’m tired but when I got home tonight, your book had come in the mail so obviously being so far past tired I had to read it and I’m glad I did and I think that one day I want to meet you at a concert or at the fair and just go up to you and kind of nod like I’m saying “So this what everything is.” and then I’d buy you a drink or hug you or something and then I’d offer you some cotton candy.