I Can’t Think of a Proper Title

10 burpees, 40 squats, 50 lunges.

It’s 2:11 a.m. where I’m located, and I can’t seem to fall asleep, although my eyes are refusing to open wider.

I’ve cleaned the family room, cleared the book case, cleansed my face, and brushed my teeth…TWICE. My body is tired and so is my mind; its so tired that it can’t rest. Ever had that? Ever been so tired that you just can’t fall asleep? Geeze, now that I think about it: I have that a lot. I just lay here thinking of what I should have said to the Sprint sales rep that gave me “the look”. I lay here pondering Mother’s reaction when I surprised her with the Galaxy 5S. Most importantly, I spend hours contemplating what I could’ve, should’ve, would’ve done to make my day brighter, less bitter, more interesting, less dull. Then I beat myself up for not waiting a couple more minutes to hold the door open for Mr. Slow Poke coming out of IHop. I stay on the thought of how last week I should have paid more attention to the Son & Dad at Family Dollar not able to afford their frozen Pizza.

Insomnia. That’s what they call it.

I promise I don’t have it, not clinically diagnosed with it, I mean. But I do confess that I get extra thoughtful at these hours. Maybe its the silence that wakes my thoughts up. If you really think about it, silence is kinda noisy and annoying. When I’m quiet and I have nothing or no one around me, I hear the silence making my head go crazy. That dead air. That forever going beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Do you ever hear that? Or am I really out of my mind?

At these hours, my thoughts jump from one subject to the next. I guess its only these hours that my mind wants to actually function. I think about the things I don’t want to think about, the things I told myself I never would and the things I should never think of. If ya get me.

72 wpm. My fingers are aching but my mind is demanding to keep typing. I promise you I’m tired. The thought of having to be at work at 6 a.m. is even more dreadful, but here I am letting my finger tips dance along the keyboard. Here I am thinking I should of said everything and anything I wanted to, to that sales rep.

You know, these are the hours that I think about my real dad the most. Though I promised myself I would let it go, these are the hours that beg to hang on to him a little tighter.

These are the hours that make me smile, but blur my vision with tear full eyes at the same time.

I close my eyes and I see things I don’t wanna see. I remember things I told myself I’d forget.

Dammit. I should of waited at the door for Mr. Slow Poke even though he was taking his sweet ass time to the door. I should of stopped organizing the stupid ChapStick flavors in alphabetical order so I could of paid for the frozen Pizzas. But I can’t now. It’s too late. The boy went home without his dinner.

3:12 a.m. now.

They call it insomnia.

-danna