There's an eerie emptiness in this place at night. Sitting awake in my living room, catching nary a wink of sleep. Listening to the creaking of the walls around me, the occasional clatter of ice being made in the fridge. It's deathly silent. Darkness is, however, a hard thing to find in this place at any time of day. The complex around me likes to keep things well-lit to keep the lycans and trouble-makers away. The whole place is bathed in a baleful orange glow lighting the neatly stacked and aligned rows of lives and families. Wild animals skitter in and out of the shadows, and a droning wind wails past my windowscreen. After much deliberation, sleep is out of the equation. All that exists is my computer screen, and everything else is void. The faint smell of yesterday's dinner lingers in the still air. Even though the fan above me turns eternally, the air still feels uncomfortably stale. My PTS (phantom tail syndrome) is kicking back in. I keep having to check behind me before I sit down or close doors behind me.
My current concert tour has been canceled. Looks like another long couple of weeks until I feel the space-cadet glow of the stage.
Rent WILL be behind this month... oh joy.
Sleep eludes me once again. I'm entranced by the feathery tendrils of incense smoke winding their way past the pale glow of my computer screen.
These train-of thought text-walls are hard to keep moving whenever you keep derailing. There's a new concept, thinking about thinking about not thinking...
A warm place to tuck my body tonight would normally lull me in my normally well-padded state, but tonight things just don't feel right. They don't feel wrong, but... not right, nonetheless.
If not for that dreaded storm I feel heading this way, I would drop to sleep right were I am this very moment.
If not for the concert constantly playing in my head, I would be lost in dream-thought for the next few hours, rejuvenating my poor skull.
A loud noise from upstairs, my ears twitch. You could hear the ash dropping off the abandoned cigarette in the ash tray. Should I just go to sleep now? Not even bother submitting this already too-long of a post? I mean, who would read this? Who would possibly want to look into the depths of the psyche that is Jeffy? The inner workings of my mind are, at times, an enigma, but are not possibly interesting enough to make remotely good reading. Just my opinion.
But on a minor note, musing like this reminds me of those old days, sitting alone at the computer in the wee hours of the morning-time, toiling away wishing that someone would come online and talk to me. Loneliness is self-inflicted at this hour. All things seem lucid and sterile. The crinkle coming from within my drawers seems deafening as I adjust my posture. Good, the cat's still asleep. He's a constant annoyance with is playful attitude, which makes me want to be a more calm and collected person. There's a time and place for everything, and what I do in my personal time stands between me, whoever else is partaking in the activities, and the fox staring back at me in the mirror. Gracious, I need some sleep. The pixels and contrast of the text to the piercing white background are blinding me. Simple things are giving me tunnel-vision. I can still taste the orange soda I drank not 30 minutes ago lingering on my teeth. Black things emerge from the distant shadows down the hall and into the beast's den. Which reminds me, if I DO wake up sometime later, I'll have to clean up >.> tripping over all these stuffed animals is getting a little unbearable (if you'll excuse the blatant pun).