Midnight.?

Midnight.

I've had trouble sleeping since my early teens. I think that's when I cultivated my obsession with movies; the type of obsession that goes beyond a mere Netflix subscription. I'd try to sleep; maybe I'd doze a bit or just lay there reading and hoping my eyes would tire. Most nights I'd be up by 2am, tip-toeing down the side of the steps where they didn't creak so much, igniting the wall heater and hoping it would catch the first time because the clicks it made were so loud, and settling in with a fuzzy blanket to watch whatever HBO had on offer. Often I'd be joining my still awake father or he'd end up coming downstairs after his own fitful Zs and watching another low budget vampire movie with me.

So it comes as no surprise that I still have trouble sleeping. Unless I'm physically or mentally exhausted to the point of collapse, I just can't do it like other people. I like naps though. One can see how napping could lead to poor nighttime sleeping but I like to think it's just an odd thing that carried over from childhood. Show me a comfy couch with pillows and blankies* under an open window that has a soft breeze carrying the scent of the earth and I'm in heaven. Make it rain outside that window and I'm out like a light; a happy, contented and comfy light.

But back to midnight. I write this blog at night, usually after midnight. It's the quietest time in the house. It's not quiet in my head. So I'm hoping that maybe getting some of these thoughts out there will help me sleep better. The irony is that I've gotten maybe 6 hours of sleep in the last 50 hours or so. I got zero sleep the night before last. I assumed last night I'd catch up. No chance. The power went out for 2500 residents around 5am. The thing is, it was LOUD. Everything sucking juice in your home gets disabled at once and apparently it's enough to scare you out of deep sleep. (That's where I'd like to think I was.) Get to sleep at 3am and jump at 5 and you'll be off your game. I was oddly awake for most of the day, save for a 2 hour nap in the late afternoon. I'm not sure who's fault that one is though. The fiance was playing a car racing video game and the hum of the pixelated engines almost always knocks me out.

The kicker is I am most productive in the early morning hours. I'm more creative, more determined, more energized and I complete more chores and projects. A doctor told me my circadian rhythm was mixed up. I am technically a natural night owl. But that doesn't work for life, does it? I do enjoy getting up at a normal hour and having the day to do things. I get so much done and it makes me feel more productive than a day I get up at noon (or later) and rush to finish whatever needs to get done.

Midnight. Part journal, part tool and part editorial. That's what I think I'm going to use this space as. That could change anytime as it's much too early to truly call. But the journaling - the first 3 entries so far - they're all rough drafts and flow of consciousness. I know I can put sentences together far better that what's here so far, but I'll save that for a more formal piece. Hopefully, the two can grow closer as I grow as a writer. I should be able to put together intricate, interesting and grammatically correct sentences without too much forethought at this point anyway. But I took that long break from writing. Years. I think because the last time I bared my soul I got hurt. I was also interested in things that my writing might mean outside of itself rather than just the writing. That was vague, I suppose. But we'll leave it like for now.

So, midnight. There it is, jumbled and mostly a lower quality standard than I expect from myself. We all have off nights. Maybe we even all have days where we've not had any sort of solid night's sleep in 2 nights. Let's just wrap it there and hope this is more cogent, compelling and captivating next time.

It's 4:56 am. Past midnight. Way past. I hope I get some sleep today. I really do.

*Disclosure: Despite the fact that I previously used the word "blanket" in it's correct form, I feel I must be true to myself. I call them blankies. To everyone. I love to cuddle with soft, warm, poofy blankies. I buy my cat the softest real baby blankies I can find. She likes to cuddle with them too. She has over a dozen. She gets them for Christmas and not just from me.

J, Sci-Fi, Wishes & Claws

Everyone has favorites in the entertainment industry; some prefer a certain genre, others a style, others an actor and still others prefer certain writers. I'm not ashamed to say I'm a bit of a fangirl for at least one in each category I listed. But certainly I remain most steadfastly devoted to a certain writer. His works are intelligent and witty and meaningful and extremely entertaining. (Lest anyone think I'm a party pooper who only enjoys a show with "strong [add your own religion here] morals.) His creations are pure enjoyment.

But those things that I'm drawn to - I'll get to those in a second - what exactly is it that I'm drawn to?

Superheroes. Fantasy. Sci-fi.

Escapism seems too easy an answer.

Is it a wish that I could be those people with those skills? Is it a wish to live in a different, perhaps better or more interesting world? Are monsters and fairytales and superheroes only for people with tragic or dull lives who wish they could be more? Is it the whole or the parts that I'm interested in?

With Buffy, I wish I had the power, the strength, the knowledge, the backup and yes, a bit of the slayer and/or witch cool factor. Would that make me feel better about myself? Could I prove myself to others then? Or is about proving myself to me?

With BSG, I wish I had the fire, the passion, the knowledge, the adaptability, and the strength of character. I think I have the fire; sometimes at times when I can't use it to better my situation. I've had the passion; it comes and goes. It's hard to say how much meds dull my sensations of thrill and passion. I can get giddy and excited but I can't remember the last time passion overwhelmed me. A hazard of taking meds, I suppose.

With Dollhouse, I wish I had the adaptability, the insane brain and body power, the street sense and the knack for knowing when to pull out which trick and how to adapt so easily.

With Doctor Who, I wish I had the wit and wisdom and the get up and go. I have the desire to learn and explore but too many real and imagined things hold me back too often.

You know, this is just a draft of an idea that I had in passing. But even this draft doesn't need me to spell out the things I feel I'm lacking in my life or the attributes I wish I had.

I think learning to discover my true talents and testing those limits, both in quantity and expertise, is what I need. If I can find my inner sci-fi superheroine, and accept her limitations in the real world, then I think I'll be one small step towards figuring out myself, my place and my gifts.

If, no when, I do this.....well I should be a little bit better of a person. For I knew all along that you must look inside and not outside. I just have to claw my way back in.

This flowed out so well, that I hope it doesn't come across as trite. It's not.

It's been five years. Five long years since I've opened any part of my heart to the curious eyes of strangers and the potential critique that comes along with pouring out the sometimes harsh world in my head and the tender trepidations of my heart.

I don't know where to start or how far to go or how to deep to search. Sometimes the words of my thoughts flow and I'm thrilled with the explosion of something that might actually be of merit. Other times, the emptiness in my head is deafening. Or maybe it's fear. Or confusion. Or cluelessness.

I'm leaning towards cluelessness. Fear, anger, love, desire, happiness - they're all here in my heart and my head too, if course. But mostly I feel lost. Clueless. My whole life and my whole being feels fulfilled in one incredibly tragic and sad way; I am unfulfilled potential. It's the only thing I've accomplished. Here, in my mid 30s, I can say that yes, I am and I remain unfulfilled potential.

Not that this is a goal or a plan. Quite the opposite. My favorite quotes are about living life to the fullest, being brave, seizing the moment and the like. And my greatest challenge seems to be to be able to heed my own favorite bumper stickers.

Writing is therapeutic. I know this. It's been a neglected...........duty? Past time? Part of me? Dual enjoyment and a major part of ME working on myself? Perhaps all of those things.

I've been down and out for so long. Since I was 15. Or maybe 8. Or maybe forever. OR maybe since I stopped blogging last time. Or maybe since every time I allow myself to get lost in someone or in some thing. Or in the dredges of anxiety and depression and all those low, lonely places that they take you. Lead you and leave you.

No one can save me but myself. I wish I knew what to grab onto to get pulled out of where I am; which may very well be so deep inside myself that even I can't find a way a out.

For now, I think the only thing I have to hold onto is myself. And I'm not really all that steady. The lost leading the lost.

It's a good thing I have those bumper stickers to guide me.