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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1223297-Ramblings-of-an-Insomniac
by Evan
Rated: E · Essay · Psychology · #1223297
I wrote this at 4am one morning, for the sole reason of exhausing myself with jibberish.
    A sleepless insomniac, immersed in a midnight pondering to toil over broken and incomprehensible dreams.  Not dreams of the subconscious state, but aspirations he could never hope to obtain, due to their elusive nature.  Upon birth, his parents took the liberty of setting the bar quite high, with expectations of his success always growing.  One would be blithe to think that he does not care to make these people proud or succeed to the fullest of his ability, but rather the fact that “success” has no definite definition in his book; this drives him ever into disarray.  Shall I marry?  What will be my financial worth?  Will people respect me in my position of power and fortitude?  These are the things that go bump in his night.  Fear of death or personal injury wilted away into an irreparable fear of failure, yet with failure seemingly looming around each bend.  His once fatigued eyes now wide and tearful as the midnight hour passes to three, apparently altogether skipping the two hours that normally fill this transition.  No matter.  What more anyway could two extra hours in a man’s day provide, short of two more hours of mourning and confusion.  Speaking of morning…
    Why won’t this morning come?  The coming day brings a new hope for joy, pleasure, and direction.  Direction is key here.  Joy comes in bursts, with long stagnant periods in-between displays.  And pleasure… pleasure is fleeting.  Sometimes so much so that one must fear blinking in order to cut his risk of missing experiencing pleasure; yet another fear for a man to parry.  But this coming day could potentially offer all of these things in one great, felled swoop.  And with the man already at the edge of a precipice, these things could carry him deeper into the valley of fortune; personal fortune, mind you.  Where financial matters carry no weight whatsoever, and where the land is fertile and abundant.  One could grow a new life here, a pleasurable life of no obligations toward success or acceptance.  These things he left atop the cliff, where they continue to roam endlessly with all the others who dared not venture into this place where gold’s glow cannot reach.  I will rest here, he says, and maybe one day return to share this place with friends.
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