Sleep typing

It is now 2:49am on a sunday morning and I find myself sitting in front of this computer in the kitchen typing. Sure I could lay down and try to force myself to go to sleep but lately sleep has not come easily nor has it stayed long, so I write. I wrote in my personal journal already, which I have been keeping on the advice of another blogger. It helps me realize some of what is going on in my head when I don't feel like getting on the computer but it also takes away from my material for my blog. Since I want to keep the two separate but both are a catalog of my life it becomes a little difficult to keep ideas from overlapping. Sure I will probably be the only person that is aware of the overlap but I would know.

I've been thinking a lot about writing a book, but haven't dedicated any time to it, just a lot of lip service. I don't think I have it in me to just sit and type away and keep focused on a single idea. I keep saying, "tomorrow I'm going to start, a page a day until I get into a groove." Tomorrow has come and gone and still nothing. Yes I have an idea of what I want to write about, but aren't we all tired of the same old gay love story or love story in general just wrapped up in today's language? I read a book about a year ago that was interesting, very graphic, however, the entire time I read the story that was before me I thought, this shit would never happen. Sure, if I wrote a novel I would be writing it for me to prove that I could do it, but I still would want an audience to enjoy and ultimately buy my work. I wait, let the days slip by, let doubt creep in, now I'm wondering if I can write well enough to write a novel. Can I tell a story like some of the other bloggers or writers I read? Once again I tell myself I'm doing this for me but others will read and judge. I'm not sure if I'm going to do it or not, I may write it and never show anyone, burn it once it is complete like so many short stories I completed throughout grammar school to college.

I think I'm finally getting tired. I have written two very long paragraphs about my day and week only to erase them both. Part of me wants to tell the word of my mood, let everyone know that I'm suffering from depression and refuse to seek help (yea hold all comments about the benefits of counseling or telling me to seek any, I know all of it but there is a reason I chose to use the word refuse in the sentence), the other part of me wants to tell about a wonderful week being surrounded by wonderful friends. All these damn wonderfuls aren't me, nor is censorship, I thought as I deleted the last paragraph, so I decided I'm tired. I'm going to go hit the couch now , realizing I'm either going to sleep in pain, wake up sore or the daily double I get both. This is life. When I was in grammar school my favorite saying was "life sucks then you die." I feel like a piece of me is dying everyday and there is nothing I can do about it. Only a pretend smile remains on this face of mine, I have become the bitter man my father was mixed with the dark child I used to be, what a fucked up pair. Goodnight/morning all...