Sleeping is hard. So is staying awake.
This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, isn’t it?
Feels like it, anyway.
It sucks. I look and feel as fed-up and dead as Vincent Schiavelli in Ghost, but my goddamn brain won’t shut off.
My weary body is Oda Mae Brown just trying to get some shut-eye, but my smart-ass inner monologue is Sam Wheat keeping me up all night belting “I’m Henery the Eighth, I Am”. Except Sam was trying to accomplish something useful by that, while my brain is just being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole.
I don’t know why I’m all Ghost references today. I haven’t watched that movie in years. I’m sure my brain has its reasons, but it’s too busy repeatedly singing one of the songs I considered and then rejected for an upcoming musical theatre audition to take the time to clue me in on what any of those reasons might be. You’d think it could throw me a bone and repeat the song I actually chose to learn for the audition, but I guess that’s asking too much.
And I guess creativity is out of the question as well, so here I am spending another blog post bitching about insomnia instead of writing about anything remotely new or interesting.
Thanks for nothing, brain.