Overdosing on Benedryl and Forgetting How to Dream

     I'd like to think I can sleep whenever I want. It's such a waste of time, isn't it? Sleeping. That's 10 hours of my life per day that could go toward something else. Eating seems like a waste of time, too. I could be blogging. I could be reading. I could be listening to music. I could be going places. But, no...instead I have to sleep.
     I'd also like to think I'm not bitter. Ha! Mmm...no.
     The t.v. that sits on the carpet of my room can only do one thing: allow me to plug in an annoying looking, portable Pac-Man/Galaga/Pole Position/Xevious/Mappy joystick controller. The buttons don't always work and the joystick frequently jams up, but when you can't fall asleep, it'll do.

One word: GHETTO.

Ignore the blank screen. I forgot to turn off the joystick so the batteries ran out.

Of course, I'm in the dark, so it looks more like this.

   
     The dark is a wonderful place. But, it's also the reason I need glasses with a prescription of triple digits. Even in a photo, that one in the dark kind of hurts my eyes. I'm a horrendous Pac-man player too. I can't blame the controller for everything, unfortunately. However, Galaga? I'm a reigning champion. Not even joking, I've been playing that game since I got the first Gameboy Advance. I've sort of been working on my high score since I came out of the womb. 

     Besides my adventures with spaceships, aliens, and trophies that don't exist, I've been having difficulty dreaming. I know that someone with a degree says that we all dream at least five times a night or whatever, but that's really hard to believe right now. When I eventually fall asleep, I don't remember anything. Have I forgotten how to dream? The last dream I remember was a nightmare. I hope I haven't forgotten how to dream, a nightmare would be a horrible way to end it, don't you think? 

     I've been forcing myself to write also. Hence; poor word choice, sloppy sentence structures, and NO MORALS TO MY INCESSANT COMPLAINING. 

     They say that to be a good writer, you have to write everyday; even if it's poor writing. So, here is me sucking it up, vomiting thoughts onto a keyboard, and hoping my writer's block will go away. 

Whit Happens

P.S. If you don't know any of those games on the controller, Google them. They're fun. Well...I think they are, but what do I know? Find out for yourself.
P.P.S. In case you're having a not-so-grand day, here's a photo (compliments of Cassy) that I bet will make you smile. Or not. 

Well, you can't just set it down!

     

Love, I Fear I've Burned Out

   

     I haven't posted in a long while. Unless you count two days ago, which I don't, because it was horribly written. I think I've burned out. I have no energy nor any desire to do anything. I'm tired all the time, I feel sick all the time, and everyone's existence is annoying me.
     Don't worry, it's not you, it's me.
     I can't write, though I have ideas. They end up getting lost in my mind. Of late, I can't seem to articulate my thoughts at all, let alone type them up nicely.
     Writing is exhausting if you're doing it right, no matter how talented of a writer you are.

   
     Realizations that are irritating me (I have to write something today...):  <-- inadvertent frown.

• I make annoying sounds when I'm bored.
• I cringe when I step into sunlight.
• I put Twitter on my phone to trick my brain into thinking I get texted a lot.
• I carry around an annoying, little notebook in my back pocket.
• I wear ear plugs in my house.
• I occasionally take off my glasses just because I'm tired of the heavy frames slipping off my face.
• I write letters to people that aren't here.
• I hate that I still log onto Facebook.
• I purposely ignore people most of the time.
• I like to think I am clever.
• I clench my jaw when I type.
• I get so angry when Bruno Mars pops up in my Pandora stations.
• I know that I'm allergic to a metal in necklace chains, but I continue to wear them.

     My brain is fried.
     This computer screen dries my eyes.
     Love, I have burned out. Enjoy the blank pages.
   

Whit Happens