While the rest of you fuckers are in the land of Nod, I am awake...again...at 2:30 in the fucking morning. I'm not sure why Robert Frost poems run through my head when I'm awake all hours of the night. It's bizarre. I wish my brain could find something more interesting to recite to me over and over besides Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening. Hell, even Fire and Ice would work better for me. But no...I gotta sit here and think about a freakin horse thinking it's queer to stop in the middle of fucking nowhere in the fucking snow with miles to go before I sleep.
Why do I know no one on Twitter? I am forced to try and guess which fake celebrity tweet may actually be the real celeb. Why? I can no longer function in the real world due to lack of sleep so I'm living vicariously through the nonsensical tweets of people I've never met and will never meet. I don't really care what they do, mind you. But their lives are much more interesting than mine. Besides, it gives me something to do when I'm not sleeping.
How long can a person go without sleep before her mind breaks? I think I'm on my way to finding out. I'm already not able to control my internal filter. I get filled with rage. So far, I have not physically harmed anyone. But I can't make any promises unless I get sleep...and soon. Oh my God! Sleep...you elusive bitch! When I find you, I am wrapping myself around you and clutching you to me as a lover.
I've been trying to write. There are bits of stories, bits of songs, and bits of poems running through my head, but my brain can't function enough to form them completely enough for paper.
Why am I being punished?
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