Confessions of an insomniac.

 

How, I wonder, here in the wee hours of the morning, do (so-called) normal people sleep? Warm milk? Pills? Lots of booze? Less stress? I ponder, always, from my darkened den, not particularly paying attention to the sounds of various infomercials (my only company, at this hour), how it can be, that some people just naturally sleep better and more than I. The question plagues me as I write by the light of the TV; my loved ones asleep in their beds. I can’t help it. One day, I’ll sleep. Until then, I’ll write, musing absently, about life and death, and love and fear, hoping for change, trying to inspire, and plying with God (or, Whatever It is) for rest.

I spin my stories (widely unread), betting on my restless Muse-to borrow, again, from Bukowski-that some good will eventually come, of them. One day, I’ll change the world. Until then, I don’t suppose I’ll sleep. I know that the way we look at the world, overall, is changing; growing; fighting a prior ignorance, but, I fear we’re being too slow about it. If we wake up, long enough, from our Internet-induced walking comas, to implement this change, we may just have a chance to live up to our potential, as a species.

Ignoring that chance is no longer an option we can afford. We can’t ever help ourselves, if we refuse to understand each other. When we look at our collective future, over the shoulders of our history, can we see beyond the past, to avoid its imprisonment in some sad cycle of ignorance? My theory is that I can’t rest, for fear I’m not stirring the pot enough; that my words and actions have so little effect on my fellow Wo/Man. I strive, here in the dark moments, to set fire to the night, to make you think differently, to wonder at life, merely for the love of it. I hope we will see, finally, a future set free from our past, with the knowledge that our mistakes need only be remembered, to be remedied. Think about it…

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