I notice when people are alone...at a restaurant, when they're driving, at the bar, the museum, the mall, anywhere. Sometimes I can make up entire stories about them without knowing a single thing about their lives. I frequently have to remind myself that the story is all in my head, and I do not really know what their life encompasses. Sometimes I forget to remind myself, and their often sad tale brings me to a melancholy state, until I can be coaxed back to mediocre jubilance once more.
I can be talked into anything. That's what a friend said about me recently, in an off-hand comment meant more for entertainment than deleterious effect. For being as stubborn as I am, I must concede that she was right, is right, even though everything inside of me wanted to dispute the claim. It's funny, oftentimes the very traits we rail against, or find unnerving in other people, are the traits we, ourselves, struggle to recognize and overcome. A different friend shared that little nugget of truth with me when I was complaining about someone unrelentingly eight years ago. I never forgot it, and think about it often. That same friend challenged me through an entire summer to stop apologizing, start working harder, continue being silly, and take time to figure it out. I hope he is happy in his life...it looks like he might be, and that makes me smile. He will never know how much his friendship meant to me at that very dark time in my life. He respected me, never wanted to be more than friends, never expected more out of me than I was willing or able to give, and showed me what a Godly man can look like in the flesh. I appreciate him more than he'll ever know.
There is a bug on my ceiling. I'm not sure I can continue typing until I take care of it. I type a few words, look up to make sure it's still there (and hasn't somehow catapulted itself into my mess of a mane), and then continue typing when I am convinced it is much happier tooling around the ceiling than to be bothered by the likes of me. This process will no doubt repeat itself until I am able to reach out and, yes, kill this bug. Normally, I would be obliged to simply set it free in the natural world, but not these bugs. You see, these bugs are relentless. My room has been taken over by these crazy boxelder bugs from a tree just outside my window. I cannot believe I'm readily admitting this, but there is plastic on my windows, and on the other side, it looks like my room is straight out of Amityville Horror. Gross. I know. Trust me, if I am unable to fix this Amityville encroachment on my living quarters, I am considering moving into my Jeep. :) Alas, this battle will end, and I will eventually win.
I can feel myself starting to get sleepy; not sleepy as in I want to be asleep, but sleepy as in I might actually be able to close my eyes and drift off shortly. There is a rather tiny window for me when this opportunity arises. If I fight it to continue writing, I will have to start this process all over again, and probably get up for the day, instead of trying to drift off to sleep at eight in the morning. It's spring break, so I am allowed some liberty. This past week, insomnia has invaded once again, with a vengeance. It seems I have trailed a miserable distance from my routine. Yes. I said routine. It's amazing what establishing a routine can do for your overall well-being, sleep included. I have now seen and felt the benefits of it firsthand. For some reason, it is naturally in me to resist routine. I do not do it openly, but little by little I find I begin talking myself out of the routine. Generally, I have to then talk myself back into it. It's a horrible process which I hope to eradicate soon.
Currently talking myself into shutting down the computer and drifting off to sleep. Guess that means it's time to go....
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