*wide-eyed post-zombie-movie-like stare of doom*

BRAINS?

for the record, i have not indulged in any zombie movies. my stare may not even cause mild discomfort, much less doom. but it'd be so much more fun if it did, wouldn't it?

is it still insomnia if you go to bed, sleep for an hour, then never see the insides of your eyelids again? *blink blink* nope, no insides of eyelids.

haven't been hit with a real bout of insomnia for a few years now. my last real insomnia attack (that lasted more than 2 days, i mean) was college (as in, all of it).

i now have an urge to watch Forever Knight. damn sound files on my playlist. *grr argh*

i've been leaving spaces between short paragraphs again. this, of course, doesn't mean i'll stop. so there.

maybe i'll go play some Diablo II (patience with L2=0. too much hack-&-slash, not enough tangible results. will likely pick it up again when it goes into Open Beta, but for now, back to D2 i go, crawling humbly on my knees and begging it to kindly take me back). yes, i am a game whore.

and THIS is a cool website. take a look.

Exigo a me non ut optimis par sim sed ut malis melior
(I require myself not to be equal to the best, but to be better than the bad) ~ Seneca

i can't seem to do anything coherent today.

sometimes i wonder if deep, insightful posts are beyond me now. after all, every word out of my mouth (or out of my fingers in this case) seems to be meaningless, useless, or of little interest to me, not to mention anyone else. being bored is no fun. being boring is worse. and yet, it seems i need a personal level of superficial angst to think of anything really meaningful/emotional/relevant. angst gets me thinking. but it has to be superficial. it has to be something stupid, inconsequential, a passing phase, a whiny moment, to make me think. this deep and unsettling every day uncertainty may be keeping me awake at night, but the less i dwell on it, the happier i am. maybe, if i ignore the monster under the bed, it won't have the power to crawl out and eat me.

for the record, i've never denied that i avoid reality. hence why i'm a writer, and an artist, and an avid historian. the modern world scares me. it's full of things like lawsuits and angry customers, money-obsessed CEOs and life choices. much better to hide in the past, when everyone is at a distance and nothing need penetrate the barrier i attempt to cast up around my poor, pitifully fragile inner being.

pity me, for i am weak. *baaaaaaaaaaa*

see, i can't even be incoherent properly. i got about 2 hours of sleep last night (from 11:30-1:30, which gives you an idea of my sleeping patterns and may, just maybe, explain my mood). i picked up my skirt today, but still have to pin it so i can get it hemmed. i have an idea for a story, but it A) won't come out and B) i know less than nothing about a large quantity of the subject. it takes a special kind of insanity to choose to write a story about war when you know nothing about ancient warfare. anybody know any good books about ancient warfare or medieval ships? i've got a few, but they don't mention numbers, which is what i really need to give me a few ideas of what the smeg was going on...

gotta pick up Caesar's "Gallic Wars" too. note to self.

ok, ok, i'll take pity on you all. i'm off to attempt to do something constructive. maybe the essay due next week? maybe read some more Suetonius? maybe watch TV like a mindless zombie?

yes, it was the middle one.

(no subject)

damn, i miss the Samurai Pizza Cats.