Late night. Can't sleep again. Two in the morning and I lie in bed watching a Ben Franklin biography. Can't watch this either. Reruns of the Laker game is on. Rerun of Voyager Star Trek is on. Rerun of X-Files is on. All formerly acceptable. Now no longer. Its late and I need to wake soon. Not the least bit tired and I am practically written out. There's stuff to do and none too appealing. So here I write. My blog. Haven't written as staunchly as before. My creative juices have gone to other endeavors. Will makeup this adventure sometime soon. Preferably before the end of the month. A daunting task, but one that needs to be done. For my peace of mind. I doubt this insomnia is due solely on blog behindedness (not a word, but I will take creative license). Its not that I have not been journalizing as diligently. Its not because my daily vigil to the gym and to church has found me absent. Its all these things combined.
Events and life is not where I'd like. Events are not where they should be. So here I write, in the middle of the night. My writes aren't so tight. I feel like taking flight. That right tonight. My nightly awakes are driving me to ponder. Past yonder. Maybe I need to catch a flic. Maybe I need to recharge my batteries with a stroll on the beach. Maybe I need to make peace.
I know what it is. It is not that I'm right. Out sync I be. Hiding awake. Riding asleep. I will not post this segment on FB. For those that read will just know. Sports TV Bloopers will need to be my sleeping pill. A light heart may need to be my medicine. Number 22. Ouch. A runaway sled nails a reporter. Number 21. Mic in the nose. Number 12: Cannon firing. reporter has heart attack. Number 11: Bruce something, the football player, faints on air. Okay, time to go.
Got to find another way to fall asleep.
