insomniaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

So yeah...I can't sleep again. Last week I slept for 3 days straight practically. Now I'm losing my mind. I hate all you sleepers. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm manic-depressive. If I am, I'm a pretty boring manic. I'm in bed listening for rats. I'm pretty sure they are all gone but moments ago I was convinced I heard gnawing behind my dresser. I feel like a tweaker. I read an article today about a study that found that lack of sleep makes one's moral judgment poor. Now that would explain some things in my life! Not sure my moral judgment's off, but certainly some judgment was awry in the past year or so of dating. First I became convinced I wanted to marry the top man on the City Attorney's Most Wanted list, then I give him my life savings, and then... well. Then there are more recent issues. yep. It's been an insomnia-filled year, that's all I can say.

I want to write a poem about birth and death...those thoughts have been circling my brain lately. things that could have, shouldn't have, might have been. And my Mom's been in my heart lately too. I miss her. Sophia becomes more like her every day, except she hugs so much and Mom never knew how, till the morphine kicked in those last few days. Sweet Mommy, roaming the clinic halls, mostly naked and giggling away. Wish the giggles had lasted til the end. god. Why is my head there now, I just don't know. I'd rather worry about rats than see my Mom's death. Now I remember why I drank...closed those thoughts off real quick-like, it did!

I'm collecting images, in my head. Images of my neighborhood...need to write a story or a book. There was a great old man this evening, washing his car on the corner of La Brea and Adams, wearing long black socks and loafers and little old-man shorts, his buttoned up shirt tucked in just right. I love him. And my neighbor from India and me, out watering our lawns in the sunset. My grass died, and I'm trying so hard to bring it back, and my other neighbor jokes that they're going to start talking about me in the 'hood. Ha....like they don't already. People drive by and do a double-take to see a red-head out on the lawn, white daughter running through the sprinkler and buying fruit from the street vendor. My gardener's name is Joe Handy. He's old and sweet and curious about me. I asked if it were his real name, and he just smiled, "yes...yes it's my real name. Joe Handy. Guess it was jes' destiny." He asks me how a girl so young can afford a house and when I tell him my age he is surprised and inquires politely how I keep my "girlish figure". Then he calls me to scold me about not watering. And Cynthia next door on the North side. Her 90 year old father passed on New Year's Day, and so she lives alone in the back house now. She talks to herself in the yard. When the doorbell rings it's always her, come to check up on us and give Sophia a hug and have some lemonade or, if she's timed it right, a steak. God that woman can eat. She goes to church on Sunday and bathes Saturday night to prepare, and Monday's I think it is, she goes to choir practice. She speaks of a boyfriend who comes to visit, though I have never seen him. Actually the bell rings on Saturday too, for my weekly visit from the Jehovah's Witnesses. A few of them are from my street so I must be very polite. I always take the magazine and thank them and wish them well in their war on .... whatever they are fighting. evil I guess.

Seems like we're all fighting evil in our own way. Mine comes in the form of rats, shitty boyfriend-judgment, thieves and insomnia.

So...just continuing to battle evil with love. It's all about love, baby...

sure would love some sleep