Time for a Story

Let me set the scene for you. It's one of those nights so cloudy you can tell the moon is out but you can't quite tell what direction it's in. You are in a city, but not one of the modern parts of a city where everything is made of steel and glass. The buildings around you are old, but they were built well enough that thats ok. They aren't dilapidated, just dated. You are walking along with a purpose. I don't know what that purpose is, but you clearly have one. And you seem rather happy at the prospect, walking down the street humming a tune and swinging your arms as if you haven't a care in the world. You pass by an attractive person of your gender of choice and give them a big smile. They smile back in relief as if all they were hoping for is that you think them to be swell. But you keep moving. You have your own agenda. You don't even look back wistfully at this beautiful stranger wishing you had the time. You are not going to be distracted tonight. You continue to walk along and happen upon...

End scene

The purpose of this narrative is to let you know that it can never be about me. I have no purpose. I am easily distracted. I am far more concerned with what might have been than what could be. I spend more time than you might guess analyzing the day's events in my head. I think this is one of the things that began my insomnia. At first it was just my mind's inability to turn off that kept me from sleeping. Who can relax when you have to go over everything that happened that day to see what you could have done to make things turn out better? Well not me, and what started out all mental became so prevalent I become physiologically accustomed to the lack of sleep. It is now to the point that when tired I cannot sleep more than 4 or 5 hours. My body will not let itself get the sleep it needs.

Listening to: Immortal Technique but fantasizing about Uffie