a notebook scratching from 4am, 23/12/2006
I’d rather be sleeping. Unfortunately for me, dark forces have once again aligned against me in an effort to… well, I’ve no idea what their sinister motive is, but you can be sure that they’re up to no good. The scratching sound of the pencil on paper is rather soothing though, and my writing is surprisingly legible considering how little of it I have done lately. Of course, your writing always appears perfectly sensible to yourself at least until the next morning.
Monday is Christmas (or as is more appropriate most of the time, Xmas) and I will be gone in a month. I don’t even know where to. It’s a very lonesome thought. Buying appliances is going to kill me, I have no fridge, washer, dryer, microwave, freezer, kettle, toaster (not that I ever eat toast, and I barely use microwaves and dryers), the thought of spending perfectly good money on such menial things is so very depressing.
My mind is unresponsive, my body sore and weary, but for some reason I can’t shut down. This is an impasse I have faced before and one I assume all sporadic insomniacs go through. The solutions I have found before have been varied in their level of success and tonight, while not ideal, I am leaning towards the cornerstone method of “bury ones head in the pillow and wait patiently for unconsciousness”. And so, to work.