I dream of shelves with jars.
In the jars are drifting glittery pieces of me.
They catch the light like dust motes.
They sparkle.

The jars stretch on and on,
well past what I can see from where I stand.
They glow and shimmer and change.

When I look at my body,
I see where the pieces came from.
Where there would be my own skin,
is a carapace of darkness, with some glimmer.
It's a hard shell of dark.
Housing a core of light.

Yes, there are some regrets.

So am trying something new for this insomnia thing. Just got up. Instead of struggling against the weight of all of the crap spinning around in my head. Just milling there. Like one big clusterfuck of a Russian grocery store circa 1975- when all of the broad-shouldered grandmothers would mill around waiting for the cigarettes and toilet paper to go on sale. Shoving and angry. That is my brain. Imagine if you will. Just the smell alone is deafening.

So the thoughts. They carry me along. Career stuff. Life stuff. The lyrics to songs that I thought I had forgotten. Sadly, I did not forget them. They are still stuffed up there, waiting for a weak moment to emerge and torment me. Yes, Genesis, I remember you well.

Also visiting me are the twin glories of fear and doubt. Love you guys, wish you would come by more often! It's great to entertain old friends in your head. Not crazy-making at all.

It's enough to inspire a colossal drinking round. But enough of that. It's 3:00 AM. Sooner or later, the sun has to rise on all of this, right?

I've been spending plenty of time thinking lately. Because that apparently is what I do. Mull crap over. Cogitate until it's dead and rotting. Zombie philosophy. Or something like that.

I haven't been overly fond of a trend I am noticing. It's something about uncompromising. I see it internally, and I see it displayed all over my work and around me. Hearing, "that's just unacceptable" just inspires me to a cold rage. Because that is one of the main symptoms. Yes, darling, it is acceptable. Because we don't always get what we want. And bad things happen. And people can be shits. And people can be nasty and difficult. And most of all, people can fuck thing up royally. And guess what! You have no choice but to accept it. You don't have to like it, but it is part of life. And biting that little tirade back on a daily basis has become my biggest struggle.

Because it all boils down to the idea that every mistake is to be taken personally, and that you are that bloody important. Somehow, somewhere, someone decided to fuck you the hell over. Well, reality check. It ain't about you, sunshine.

Now I feel a little better.