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I’m lying in my bed. It’s pitch black in here; the light from my iPhone is casting a narrow band of grey light onto the wall behind my head.
The fan that I cannot sleep without is stirring the air and providing the white noise that is probably as necessary for my being able to sleep as the fact that I can not stand trying to sleep when it is hot.
My iPod is softly playing a playlist of music I’ve recently discovered as well as some cherished favorites.
It has been an incredibly long weekend, containing some pretty intense training at work and an early Sunday morning gig.
I should be sleeping. All the elements are in place.
Yet, here I am processing so many thoughts that my brain refuses to comply with my body’s cry for mercy.
How do I get out of this shifty web design project I’ve committed to?
Why do I continue tolerating relationships with people who are dishonest, oblivious, or otherwise giant time-sinks?
When will I finally get to a point in my life where I am totally financially stable and not living pay check to check?
Where should we move? How long do we have?
Why does my bedroom smell like a school locker room?
Why am I laying here in the near darkness tackling my existential crises?
Aren’t there happier thoughts to keep me company in the dark?
What happened to that guy I used to be who was inspired by everything around him?
What happened to that guy that used to inspire songs being written about him?
He’s listening to those songs and feeling nostalgic.
He’s drifting off to sleep while laying in a near perfect darkness.
