Melatonin

I can't sleep, so I lay here on this old futon, staring at the wall, consider going for a walk, decide against it, and continue staring at the wall. A typical progression. What can I do about it? Very little I suppose. Neil Simon and Art Garfunkel are singing to me about how they are so tired, but I'm not taking a hint. So I lay here, letting my mind wander. If I wasn't alone I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, but the thought crosses my mind. It doesn't matter either way, I'd still be awake when I ought to be asleep. So, stream of consciousness... as fast as I can type...

Milo and Otis was and is a fantastic film. Mrs. Robinson is sort of a creepy song when you think about it. I wonder if I would think about different things if I didn't have music on? I like that bass pattern. That guitar intro makes me think of summertime. Boom boom bass drum kicking. I'd like to take a train across the country. It would be neat to have a song written about me someday. Celicia was a bit loose from what I gather. What is that instrument? I am glad there are leaves on the trees again, the sun looks so pretty on them in the morning, and they bustle about so perfectly in the wind. Did I eat dinner? Nope. Shoot. Oh well, I think I'll be fine, I feel fine. I wish I was better at punching. Should I ride my bike to work tomorrow? That would be nice. My shoulders are tense. Maybe if I wiggle them like that... No, not really. I wonder what everyone at Evergreen was like before college?

That's enough. I feel like Faulkner now. Not sure if I'm pleased about that?