The Reason

Some nights I just don't want to go to sleep. I can't really explain why. I don't know if this is a part of my insomnia or if this is the cause of it all. Its 3am and my alarm is going off in 4 hours, but here I am. Sitting at my computer. Typing away. I'm not really sure why, either. Even as I write that, though, I know its not true. Not completely true, anyway. I do know a part of the reason that I don't want to go to bed. Its that I don't want to go to an empty bed. I almost feel like I'm drunk. My body is roughly one thousand degrees. I'm on the verge of breaking a sweat even though the thermostat is set for 74. I can barely keep my eyes open, yet as they drift shut, the snap back as if they had springs. My muscles hurt. My arms, my legs, my neck, my back. Everything feels tight. I have to think about breathing. All this, and I know that I could end it all in an instant. Within a minute of my head hitting the pillow, I know I will be asleep. There is the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. I can feel it. Its familiar. That feeling. Its a part of who I am. We chose each other. 2B or not 2B, that is the question. whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to rise against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them; to die to sleep no more; and by a sleep, to say we end the heart ache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. to sleep, perchance to dream. that is the rub indeed. not that i have night terrors or anything like that. i don't remember all that many of my dreams. really i don't. so its not like i fear them or anything. i'm not scared to dream. not exactly. Most of the dreams I remember are similar, though. Related. Familiar. Its like my mind has created this angsty utopia where I have everything that I want, but the whole time I am in this dream I know its not real. I can tell something just isn't quite right. So I have these things; I am living this life, a perfect life, but I don't enjoy it because I know that in a few minutes its all going to fade away. So I choose not to dream. I'd rather not have my tainted perfection. I'd rather have this life. My life. As imperfect as it is.