One day, I swear I’ll die from lack of sleep…

I always seem to have these sudden urges to write right when I’m about to sleep. Ain’t that something? The two activities which I cherish most in this world are constantly at war with each other, and if I give one up, then I always, always regret it. Always. Did I mention always? ‘Cause I meant it. ALWAYS. Sacrifice my sleep, and I end up with terrible headaches and a terrible need to catch up on them zzz’s when I’m supposed to be doing an SAT I practice test. Climb into bed instead of writing out my feelings when I feel inspired, and I lose my thought and feel frustrated when I wake up the morning after. What are you supposed to do when faced with such a dilemma? When I grow up and pursue a career in writing (I’m saying this as a “when” not “if” situation to boost my confidence, though given the amount of control my mother has over my life, we’ll see how that dream turns out, ha!), I’m going to screw myself over if this keeps on happening.

This better just be one of those only-when-you’re-a-teen things that comes with, well, being a teen. You know, like writing god-awful poetry after a break-up and thinking it’s the most beautiful sample of literature created, or thinking that everything that goes wrong in your love life is a direct metaphor symbolizing the end of the world? That type of thing. Maybe not being able to sleep until everyone else is about to wake up is just another one of those things that comes with the supposedly “best years of your life.” I’m going to try to be optimistic and hope that it is, or else a change in my career goals may be in order. Maybe I’ll work night shifts at Popeye’s or something; at least I’d have the proper waking hours instilled in my system to do so. I’ll write in my sleep or something, I don’t know. Knowing me, I’ll figure it out (I’m writing this as a definite possibility to boost my confidence, though given the amount of enthusiasm I have towards this plan, we’ll see how this dream turns out…on second thought, it doesn’t even qualify as one. A dream, I mean. It’s more of a safer alternative than anything else.. though really, rotating racks of fried chicken through an oven doesn’t sound any more secure than waking up at 3AM to write about how the colour of your underwear shows that love is pain does, now that I think about it.)

Let us cease this madness I call writing; I’m tired.