The candle burns the midnight blue and I remain with my eyes wide open. Tomorrow will no doubt bear a troubled and weakened mind. Why I persist in this nocturnal realm is beyond the weary comprehension of a man with no idea. The plan is to get my eyes shut by 1:00 am, so I have about half an hour to kill before the deal with the sandman expires. A deal not so much different from the plight Cinderella faced all those imagined years ago. Perhaps I can lay blame to the evil sisters of midnight curse but in the darkened chasm of this tortured soul lies the truth behind my nocturnal hell.

I could very well fall asleep in the now but I spent half the night in a waste land trying to repair the unrepairable, the clunking of a dead fan was my undoing tonight so here I am, tired and exhausted but still kicking. Kicking but without a redeemable word to reconcile the night with. I am rambling for the sake of speaking, perhaps so I don’t lose contact with the daemon which inspires the wretched to insight and foreboding.

Probably what is closest to the truth is that I just wish to play with my new toy and I am doing so as I speak, in the comfort of my own bed. I got myself a little friend to keep me company and to keep me sane while my Dad continues to live with me. I figured if I have to resort to desperate measures and to regress into childhood survival mechanisms to cope with the undue stress of paternal patronage I may as well do it in comfort. I have this laptop now so I don’t have to be in too close proximity with the object of my woe and having such a gadget allows me the option to lock myself away if the need arises and not do without the comforts and addictive behaviours I’ve grown accustomed to indulging.

It reminds me of how I used to cope in times gone by, by escaping the situation. I see no shame in admitting that I seem to have not grown out of this old behaviour. Things could be worse and I am incredibly fortunate to be able to have the opportunity to indulge the flights and fancies of purchasing mayhem, thus ensuing a level of sanity which may not be considered in any way whatsoever normalcy.

The clock strikes one and the pumpkin calls its soupy name.

Category : Journal

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