Can't Sleep

 Good evening, however.

I regret to inform you that it is in fact the morning, not the evening. At the time I am writing this, it is 4:18am on Tuesday the 11th of November. 11/11/25. That number feels significant in some way, but then again we have one just like it every year. I digress.

In my un-slept state, I decided it might be in my best interest to take this time to do some light journaling while the blood brain barrier is thin with exhaustion. I am exhausted, but I am restless, and I cannot sleep for the life of me. Nothing I've tried works; hot tea, cold water, quick bath, bathroom trip, anxiety medication, nothing. I've laid with my head on the once cold side of a pillow and tossed it around to experience the chilled silk sheets once more but still I cannot sleep. I tried taking a walk around my house but the 1250 square feet don't make for much of a walking path since almost half of is it is the master bedroom where my fiance lays peacefully and unbothered by my affliction. So I loop the kitchen island once more and try to let the rampant thoughts run their way out of my head. To nowhere.

In truth, I think I might have made the mistake in drinking a coffee at midnight. I'd never admit that this was the problem, as I used to do stimulants late into the eves and manage to get more sleep than this, as if admitting I had a problem with caffeine was somehow below me. I think I do have a problem with it, but it's excusable compared to other things. I reckon, at least, though half of Salt Lake City might disagree with me. 

Another mistake, perhaps, is that I have hardly been writing this last week since finishing my novel. It's a weird thing- it feels off to not be writing. Today might be the first day that I've begun to feel the effects. Four and a half months of dumping my unrestricted innermost thoughts onto paper comes to a sudden halt. The gates have shut and the water is seeping through the top of the valley in the worst way. Even as I write this slop, I am beginning to feel less burdened by the inner turmoil and monologues. Things that kept me up an hour ago no longer lurk in the forefront of my mind, rather they've descended back to whence they came. They haven't slipped onto paper- as you can see above- instead the water that floated them up has been drained, and they've returned to the dregs of my mind. 

Today, I am thankful for my blog and for anyone reading it. In a way, you're part of the solution to my problem. Without you, I most likely would've tried banging my head on a wall till I turn dizzy or drank a ladle of Buckley's to knock myself out. Instead, through words and venting, I might get some shuteye when I press publish. 

Talk soon, take care, and thank's for listening.

C. A. Winter


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