In futility I roll over and turn on the light by the bed. It flickers due to some problem in the electrical outlet – I can’t even plug my compiter into it or it starts making the crackle sound of sparks behind the plate. The cord stretches to its’ limit to an outlet on the other side of the room.
It’s 5:05am, and I still can’t sleep. I wonder if it’s the incessant noise and shouting coming from the street below – and am reminded of the old saying; “Careful what you wish for.” From darkness and deafening silence I move into a place where the noise of drunken idiots both walking by shouting and driving with their stereos full blast never seems to cease.
Still, I don’t think why I can’t sleep, and haven’t been able to – at least not more than a couple hours at a time, for weeks.
Unless, of course, I have drank enough bourbon. Dead to the world, dead in my mind, worthless. In these sleepless nights I can’t even seem to get myself to do anything productive – just as worthless, but I don’t feel as shitty when it comes time to take a shower and crawl through another day of this feeling, feeling so less than, irritable, unconcious.
For a reason I’m not certain of, I keep most of my bags packed still. Either I haven’t come to terms that i actually have a home, or I don’t want this one to be it – or something else. I don’t know what something else could be, but the first reasons seem far too simplistic.
I love this city and want to stay, but I’m worried, which is entirely unlike me. I recieved my second paycheck today, complete with all the credit card tips on it. It was humiliating. There is no possible way I can survive on this. Things need to change. I need to make some more fucking money if I want this to work.
I need to get some fucking sleep if I want that to work.
5:45am. Maybe I’ll practice my daily online french lessons. They’ve been stacking up.