1/23/2007
Sleep is nothing more than a privilege

I hate coincidences. If I call it one, I'd eventually realize it is more of a conspiracy. It's as if I've foreseen what's going to happen, and when I forget about it - dismissing it as semantic trash or something - it does come true. Or maybe I do too much thinking to eventually end up getting very bothered about it, and maybe lose sleep even in the coldest of temperatures.

But if today was any indicator, it's as if it is meant to happen. My horoscope was making a fuss out of another epiphany - that word, I actually strayed away from simply because I've had too much of it and I won't want another one that I'm not exactly willing to take. If I didn't remember so much I'd probably be happier or something, simply because I didn't have to mind much more - pressure myself, maybe, and that's all it takes to get there.

And self-imposed obligations get in the way, but being human we all want to be good to other people, admittedly expecting something to be given back. It's unfair to think it won't happen; that, in itself, is already unfair. The same goes with attaching tags to something that remains unsure, and yet that's what I am doing right now. I'm merely the culprit behind my own crusade.

Put it this way. You obviously don't want anything to bother you, right? Then again when you're slightly forced to open up and maintain damage control, things go way crazier than expected. You change your portrayals and your battle plans, and you retool yourself only to realize you've got it all wrong, all along. Coincidences, right? Or, again, it could be me thinking about things.

Alyssa gets the fifteenth version of the story. At least, I thought, this is another calculated move, although obviously I tried my best to limit damage and stay sane throughout the course of the next few months or so, or something. But my hysterical tendencies mean I'll eventually ask myself if me making this decision is part and parcel of a conspiracy to make me go insane and necessitate an admission into an institution worlds away from where I am right now. And it quite sucks, really, thinking that all along, despite every finger pointed, four more point at me, or else I look really stupid pointing a hand, when an elbow points at me, somehow.

In these times, sleep does become nothing more than a privilege. (That isn't my idea, but I can't believe I forgot to quote Cam for this.) You stay up, wonder, bother to wonder, and wonder some more, whether bothering to wonder is all worth it. Would they even bother to figure out why I keep on insisting to rhyme what cannot be rhymed?

And your responses...

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