Blacklisted by the Sandman

So here I am again. 12:45 AM. Nope, not really sleepy. This sort of thing happens a lot. Not every night though at least. Mr Sandman cut his budget in the Mac household, anymore it seems that he only visits one person a night in this bedroom. I am thankful that most of the time it is me, but Paul's lack of sleep sometimes seems as if it is a trade off, if I had his mental capacity I would be drunk with power and never sleep.

I think it's something pretty simple compounded by something sort of dark. If Paul is awake, he is pounding they keys of the computer or listening to music and the sound makes me feel all warm and fuzzy because it is audio evidence that I am not alone. When the house is quiet, the demons creep in. You know what I mean?

The kind of demons that haunt you when you've been to hell and back and lived to tell the tale. It's those things that come to visit you in the night when no one is there to pull you out of the fire. For me even the tamest night starts out with that satisfaction of stretching out across the cool sheets with thoughts winding down. I like to think of things that give me a sense of accomplishment. The problem with that is my tendency to look at things from a comparative perspective so as to see the value in the status-quoa.

Looking back and then looking at the present has an eerie way of instilling a sense of melancholy. I am a fan of melancholy, but it tends to take me to a very strange place. I sort of just float on a plain just above reality where anything can happen and it's usually bad. After a dozen or so full fledged doomsday scenarios float through my head, I get up and try to purge the bad thoughts for mental health purposes.

Let me just say this, exercising the demons literally is a bad thing. Try going to sleep after 30 minutes of cardio, not gonna happen! Sometimes I blog which makes me sleepy, further reinforcing that theory that I cannot sleep when Paul is sleeping because it is too quiet. Sometimes, you just stick it out. Folks, tonight is not the night for sticking it out, but the good news is that I am feeling a little sleepy.

If anyone needs me I will be staring at the ceiling wishing I had not polished off that book about the Branch-Davidian cult so close to bed time. If there is anything to be learned here it's this: Vernon Howell was a sick fuck and he is in cahoots with the sandman tonight.