My sleep cycle's been reversed. You might say that i am nocturnal, like an owl, and i might glare at you, but that is normal, just like how my abnormal, lopsided sleeping habit is normal to me.
Don't get me wrong: i like the nighttime. My problem with it is that nobody's up for fun usually on weeknights -or weekmidnights. My social compass is malfunctioning at best, but i still want someone to share ideas with, if what i offer is socially acceptable enough not to be dismissed at mid-introduction; or when the other guy's ideas aren't too weird or stupid in my opinion. I hate wasting my midnight. Midnights are when juice flows so eagerly, and at the most pulpy. What a bad comparison. Anyhow, most people would get me. I hope they also get the irony.
Midnight makes for a quiet writing sit-down.
Anyway, in my head, in all honesty (and i really am being honest), i write well -good, even. I like how i sound spontaneous and talkative, but don't we all feel the same, when the words are inside our heads? To some, this post might be something they'd wash off their minds right after, but i could care less. As i have stated before, but not here, i am an emotional writer (should there be another meaning that states otherwise than what follows, tell me) -prior to writing, i have something to either praise or rant about. Maybe i could be just waiting for sleep (now, for instance). Post-typing, i take a read, then publish, then that's the end of it. What i could have been feeling before writing may or may not have been dealt with properly (because i tend to figuratively drift off topic), but that's for me to sleep over. After publishing, i forget about the entry. I have done my venting (read: bitching), and whomsoever dislikes the blog, hurl as much flak as you could (no one yet has), but albert wouldn't mind. I don't write to reach out; what i say, these petty words put together, could not possibly bring about change in you, unless your life sucks as much as mine.
So back to not being an insomniac. To invite sleep, i write, or watch something not pornographic. Usually i rerun a 30Rock season (yes, a whole season); sometimes a movie (that would be Doubt); or an episode or three of Modern Family (almost done with the second season!) or House (i am shameless: i skipped S04-05, methinks; torrents take too long, see, and what i have are S06 episodes). I get sleepy mainly because of the laughing, which i do quite loudly because i am alone; or the seriousness of the plot, which drives me overanalyzing the situation, and eventually sleepy. I could not figure out exactly how tv renders me sleepy; how I analyze the world seems strange to me. Obviously, i am clueless about my own sleeping rituals.
Now i have turned to reading (JD Salinger). I have stopped forcing my way through Tuesdays With Morrie; it is cheesy, slow and could make me crazy. And so I have picked up JD Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye, and I cant seem to put it down. The informality of the text is wonderful. Read it and you will see how much of a brazen boy i am to love the book. Anyhow, i haven't finished it yet -not even half of it. I shall start the eleventh chapter when i wake up after this sleep that is coming. I hope to cherish it, the book; and i hope it brings some change in me, although the bookshelf i picked it up from is miles away from the self-help variety. This could be my self-help book, and not Mitch Albom's cheese-fest crapola. Gosh that book sucks so much.
Okay. I probably should get dreaming now. Next entry, i might tell you how weird my dreams are of late.