"The world is round, my square don't fit at all."

It’s 5:22 am, cold, damp, and insomnia is in the air. It’s just insomnia and my thoughts running rampant on this wild Wednesday. Can you sense the sarcasm? 5 am and I’m writing. You certainly are a wild one George. I’m writing out of this hidden passion I had within me all this time, but it just took a moment to realize it. A moment to understand that without that sense of chaos, lack of responsibility, and arguably good times that were quite mischievous all had their purpose. Experience. Oh how ironic the first thought that comes to mind is Jimi Hendrix’s fantastic album Are you experienced? It seems to me that this has a sudden meaning to me and it was hidden behind plain sight just like my passion for writing.

It’s funny how sleep works. You know you need it, you want it for the most part, but for some of us it’s just out of arms reach. Why is that? Is it because I have lived a life of 3 years into mischievous late night drinking? I don’t know. I feel if that were the case I should have some utter brief moments of what I can only imagine an acid flashback; only driven by the booze. What is it? Is it a phase? Do I come back to grips with the rest of the worlds and awake and write rather than be awake and write. Whatever the case I’m sure like my hidden hobby. It will make sense.

So what was I doing with the past 4-5 hours? Sleeping? If only that were the case, instead I lay down in my bed rolling around awaiting for that sudden blank moment. The moment you escape reality only to be given one of three worries. Do I dream? Is it a nightmare? Or is it just plain natural sleep? Of course we don’t ponder these questions when were about to sleep. Thoughts run rampant in a circle of mixed emotion. Interesting as it may be I found myself watching Almost Famous. I never really was watching it for more than the first 20-25 minutes. The rest of the time I’m rolling around trying to sleep, but just putting dialogue to pictures in my mind. I guess you could say I was day dreaming in an odd way, but it was interesting. I guess it’s why I feel so compelled to write right now. It’s like the character Lester tells Wayne. I would just take speed and write dribble all night, 25 pages, but just to write. I find myself more and more moving my time around to write and I’m not talking about university academic papers. That writing is different; it lacks emotion and is just so primal.

Morale of this post if I even dare indulge that my writing offers such a thing is whatever it is you like to do, do it. Don’t wait for some universal time where the world stops, be spontaneous and do what you want, when you want. It’s coming off too much of that horrendous fad YOLO so for sake of consideration for my own self-respect and dignity; think carpe diem. That is classier and more intellectually appropriate. Another topic for another sleepless night, until then…

Look closer…