Weariness falls on me like a warm blanket in the February chill. “Burn Out” seems a constant threat but I press on, in denial…of these harsher realities.
    Plagued by a constant drowsiness, I have become an addict to the waking chemicals of caffeine and Powerade.
    That which comes to nest after this “pushy” sleepiness is depression, making any restful action into a paranoid anxiety attack on the internal organs (i.e. spleen, brain, ear drum).
    To Sleep, Perchance To Dream.
    Dream of dreamless sleeps, Young Grasshopper, and of unlabored breathing under this heavy blanket. One that would smother the sun should its rays persist too much.
    Sweet sleep, a time for logic to rest and soul to walk. Sleep through the lights of daytime and the suns of night in blissful coma.
    Yet, I cannot. For all my desire of this retreat into the sandman’s arms, I prefer yours. This hastle, the fight to keep my eyes open, if well worth the trouble if only to prolong the time in which our eyes are locked in each others gaze. Against much needed peace, I prefer the comforts of your company, and until I collapse in a humble heap some mundane Thursday afternoon, I shall continue to kick off the warmth of this blanket.

4 thoughts on “Note

  1. I’m a caffeine addict too. Don’t kill yourself though. Your time maybe near or it maybe far, but the reason you’re not yet already dead is that you still have something left to do. My frozen hands will pick the blanket up and use it for myself. I hope your novel is going well.

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