Glorious Delusion

Do you ever have one of those nights where you just don’t want to sleep?

It’s like, if you go to sleep, you’ll miss a lot of things. Events will go on without you, ideas will never come to you, and people will pass you by. There’s work to get done before school ends for the semester. There’s future endeavors to prepare for and plan. There’s things you want to do for fun but don’t have the time for during the day. There’s so much to say and do before you run out of time and spend a whole summer wishing you had acted on an impulse when you had the chance. Ahem. With all the things to get done and finish, sleep just feels like a waste of valuable time. At least it does at the moment until I start to pass out from exhaustion. But that’s not relevant at the moment. 

I read somewhere a few weeks ago that sleep is supposed to be healing for both the body and the mind. I mean, most health benefits paired with sleep, like not dying and shit, are obvious. We all know we NEED sleep. It helps us retain information, recharge, etc. Even I know this despite the little time I actually get to spend doing it. And despite me writing about not wanting to sleep… But what I remember reading was more than that, not just some known facts about its health benefits. It was describing how you could sleep all of your problems away. It’s meditative and calming. An easy escape from the real world. 

I used to think that way. Sleeping was a way out. It was a gateway to dreams, and dreaming was what kept me going for most of my childhood. I preferred the stories playing in my head much more than reality so I began to dream constantly. Everyday, all the time, I’d daydream, drift off to other worlds, be better versions of myself, and try desperately to escape. No problems in the real world bothered me because I didn’t have to deal with them for long. It was good and bad for me. I was in a haze for a long time. Looking back now, that’s how I’d describe it. I didn’t really wake up until about three years ago. Even now, I feel like I’m detached from certain things because of the amount of time I spent “away” from this world.

Now that I’m thinking about it more and questioning what it meant to me for so long, dreaming has taken on a slightly different connotation to me. It used to be a sanctuary, my own morphed place to call home. This notion was a dominate feeling for most of my life. Recently, however, I’ve been feeling differently. The place I am right now provides me with a lot of opportunities. My school, the city, and the people I’m meeting are all pushing me forward faster than I’ve ever gone before. There are opportunities to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but once perceived to be impossible. As much as it pains me to say it, at this point in my life, dreaming is kind of a waste of time. It implies thinking but not taking action. And I can’t afford not to move with all the opportunity around me. For the first time, I sleep for the energy and not the dreams. For once, what I know will make me happy is reachable in reality. 

I used to hate the thought of ever leaving behind my delusions. I had held onto them selfishly for years and years beyond when I should have grown up. When I convinced myself to let them go in order to grow as a person, it felt like abandonment of something hugely important in my life. The one thing that made me believe in impossible things and look for hope and not fall into despair and move on and live like there’s no tomorrow and not get depressed and always believe everything would be okay in the end. 

One of my favorite graphic novels touches on the topic of sleep briefly. Well, it mentions it directly once, but if you get all metaphorical it has a larger role in the story as a whole. The main character, Johnny, is a homicidal maniac (Yes. I like weird shit). The entirety of the series is basically an analysis of his mental state and how he interacts with the world that he views as scum. Maybe I’ll talk about the story more in depth at a later date, but the one part I want to mention here is toward the end. Johnny, being an insomniac, is questioned about his sleeping habits. In response, he says that he doesn’t trust sleep. With so much uncertainty in the world already, how can he trust his own consciousness if he is constantly traveling in between reality and his dreams? It’s interesting. As a certifiably insane individual, he is still very aware of the fragility of what he perceives to be real. Because he possesses so little sanity to begin with, he guards it by not sleeping. The cover of the collected works and the logo of the story is “Z?” which means “question sleep.”  I always considered this an intriguing philosophy. 

“Trusting yourself completely means giving into the possibility that you could slip into your own mind and get lost.”

Hm.

I didn’t feel like sleeping tonight. Not yet. So I’m sitting here writing. For some reason, I feel like that’s a step forward for me. 

I don’t like writing about myself just for the sake of writing about myself. I feel like it’s not interesting enough. I feel like it would get boring to document everything I do. If I’m not writing fictional stories, I’d much rather write about ideas. If there needs to be an anecdote to go with it, then fine. Just let me put in something that doesn’t have a direct correlation to me. There’s more substance in that. And at least then, I can pretend like I’m writing something with some kind of purpose other than recounting my daily life. It’s like when a teacher asks you to write a paper with a meaningful ending, wrapping everything up nicely and relating your topic to the bigger picture. You know half the time it’s just bullshit, but you put it there anyway. It makes it more relatable, more interesting, more entertaining. And we all know that’s what I’m going for all the time…

And damn, I use “I” a lot. That’s another reason I hate writing about myself. It makes me sound so self-centered all the time. Constantly referring to myself, in complete disregard of anything else, just continually writing me, me, ME. But more importantly, it just gets so boring to read after awhile! (Once again, we know what I care about…) “I this, I that.” Why the fuck can’t I vary this sentence structure? What kind of half-ass writer am I?

Rants aside, I’ve been trying to think of something to write about that’s worth reading. The amount of stupid ideas popping into my head right now is boundless, but nothing is really hitting me. The things that I think I could elaborate on or have interest in would take too much effort for my sleep-deprived, slightly inane psyche. However, my brain will continue to be racked.

I went on the internet for inspiration (ha, sure), and found my way to Twitter, a site that I only used for a week about a month ago to document a road trip I had with some friends who were the ones that forced me to use it in the first place. So, I return in my search for inspiration. The people I follow are a mixture of a select group of friends that I actually care about and celebrities I like. One of them is a YouTube news show host. I’ve been watching him for years, and I admire the fuck out of him. You know how much admiration that is? A lot. Like so much, it’s oozing out of my every pour or some such nonsense. Anyway, he tweeted something just as I logged on. It went along the lines of “I can’t sleep, blah, blah. In my sleep-deprived boredom [We have so much in common!], I’ll grace my fans with my presence and talk to any brave fuck who will write to me.” (I’m paraphrasing.) So guess who was a brave fuck tonight? That’s right, me.

So there I was, staring at my computer screen trying to decide what to write that wouldn’t come off as completely vapid or overly obnoxious. So I tell him, I’m trying to write. Then, he actually tweeted back. He asked what I was writing about. My response; useless things. So I asked for a suggestion.

He didn’t respond.

But oh, were those eleven seconds where he knew my name through the internet connection on his phone oh so sweet. Is there a point to this? Not really. It was a story to tell, I suppose. I guess I should try to pull some meaning out of this so the random block of text sitting in front of me was not woven in vain. Look at me, trying to make this sound more important than it is. Look at me, trying to retain some semblance of the topic from the opening paragraph. Silly me. Goddamn silly me.

Meaning. I’ve gotta stop waiting for inspiration. I can’t just expect good ideas to be thrown at me if I wait. Like with writing. Well, empty space, I don’t know if you noticed, but I haven’t written on here in a few months. I didn’t bring it up at the beginning of the post because, hell, that’d be far too cliché. Writing it at the END, however, is totally original. Look at how clever and innovative I am. Back to the topic. I keep waiting too long for “good ideas.” If I continue doing that, I’ll never have anything to show for myself, because my expectations for the things I create is far too high. So this time around, hopefully I will actually write regularly, whether it’s good or bad. And when that happens, I can move away from topics like why the fuck I haven’t been writing, because everyone knows that’s gonna get old real soon. Ha.

Seeya soon.

Hello again. Before I start rambling nonsensically into the internet on a regular basis, there are probably a few things you (vacant air, that you are) should know about me. My name? Age? Place of residence? Favorite color? Preferred sexual position? Greatest fear? Mother’s maiden name? Hell no, that’d be way too easy. Exposition is boring. No, I’m going to tell you things that actual have some semblance of significance. Or, at the very least, things that will help you understand this blog better. Here we go, about to dive into my subconscious. Everyone have their machetes? No? Well, don’t expect to come back alive then. 

1. My literary voice

I’m going to make this explicitly clear right now. 90% of what I say is sarcastic. I tell you this because unless you also know me in the real world, I can come off as a real bitch in writing. Normally, I wouldn’t start talking exclusively like myself through text (or in person, now that I think about it) unless the person I’m talking to already knows me pretty well. I find this, the ridiculous fear of being yourself, to be a real problem in myself and a lot of people I know. To remedy this, I have been trying to be as much like me as possible (I know, oxymoronic). So this is me, in the purest sense of my “voice.”

2. Not entirely heartless

Going off of my first point, although I’m really sarcastic, I am actually a relatively decent person. If anyone ever wants to talk to me, please feel free to do so. I do really enjoy meeting new and interesting people. I won’t eat you, I promise. Disembowel maybe, but not eat. Take that metaphorically if you wish.

3.Telling stories

This is a big one. Everything I do, everything I’m working toward in life, the reason why I want to get involved more on the internet, why I AM ALIVE, is to tell stories. This is my life, ladies and gentlemen. You know that crazy homeless person rambling about his childhood experiences in the corner of the supermarket? Or that annoying kid that takes four hours to talk about her weekend so every minuscule detail is perfect? Or that eccentric soothsayer that lives in your village square telling you legends about your people’s past? That’s me. I live and breath to tell stories, and I do so in a number of different mediums. Writing, drawing, video, whatever. Just realize that this is a driving force in my life.

4. Blog thing

Why am I even doing this now? At some point, I’ll probably get into a lot more detail about why I’m here doing the whole blog/internet thing. At the moment, I’ll give you the shortened version. This is practice for me. I like to think of myself as a writer, but lately I have been too busy to write much at all. That bothers me. Here, I can write whatever I want, which makes it the perfect place to practice and keep me writing. Also, it’s motivation. If there is even the smallest inkling that someone out there is reading this, I have more of a reason to write. No excuses and no being too busy. I’m here to write. So be warned, this is a mostly, if not entirely, text based blog. If you don’t like that, no hard feelings, just get out. Really. I’m not saying I hate you, just telling you that you won’t enjoy following me. If you don’t like reading what I write, neither of us is having fun.

5. Entertainment

This blog is for entertainment. Your entertainment. The reader’s entertainment. I’m not much for complaining about my problems on the internet. I don’t like burdening people with insignificant things regarding my life. If I talk about a problem I’m having on here, 99% of the time it’s for entertainment’s sake and not to be taken seriously. In fact, it could be argued, with much validity, that this list is even for your entertainment. Do you really need to know any of this? No. Do you need to know it to enjoy reading my crap? Possibly. Was this fun to read in and of itself? I fucking hope so. I mean, that’s the point. Once again, what I do is tell stories. I like to entertain people, whether that means making my own experiences funny, chilling, inspiring, etc. So, even if this is the closest thing to a diary I will ever have, it’s not FOR me in the sense you might think. Don’t worry too much about me. Just read on.

6. WTF list?

Yes, this is a list. I feel that starting a blog with a list about said blog which is only currently read by people I know personally can be misconstrued as being pretentious. Or I could be paranoid. Either way, I like having “starts” to things (even if the thing becomes completely disorganized and full of crap as time goes on) and this is what I came up with. So, yeah. 

Now, this post does not contain the secret formula to everything that makes me who I am. These are just things I want anyone who reads this blog to know before they get too involved (with what? I don’t fucking know). So, if you like my writing, stick around. I am going to try and make this as interesting as possible. 

(P.S. I know I use parenthesis a lot. Get over it.)

Hey.

Yeah, that’s right. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” is the first piece of writing I’m sharing with you, internet. Masterful, isn’t it? Awe-inspiring? Profound? Of course not. And that, my friends, is what I need to understand.

This is my first blog. In fact, this is one of the first things I have ever publicly shared on the internet. The first thing that I have artistically made that I am letting the world see. And that kind of makes me sick (I’ll talk about that another time). There are so many outlets available to me, and they’re all right here behind this computer screen. This fucking screen where people could potentially mock you, criticize you, threaten you, hate you. Pshh. I’ve always told myself that I don’t care about that type of crap. That if people don’t like me, who cares. Yet, here I am, with nothing of mine out there for the world to see. Fuck.

What happened to my aspirations. Here I am, afraid of people I don’t even know. Actually, it’s more the people I do know… What the hell? This whole situation needs to change now. So it will. Now. Within the next month, I will have something to show for myself. And it won’t be some stupid Facebook page with little tidbits about my likes or planned pictures I took with my friends or shallow comments from shallow people who think they know me. That’s what everything has felt like lately… god, I hate angst. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not depressed or insane (at least not clinically). I’m just so tired of not doing what I tell myself I’m going to do. You know? No. You don’t know how I feel just like I don’t know how you feel. Who the fuck are you anyway? Reading this blurb of nothing. I’m wasting your life with this crap… but, uh, stick around anyway, because the content I spew out into this vast, endless wasteland we call the interwebs will get better. I promise. Hold me to that. Make sure I keep that promise. If I have people that I could potentially disappoint, I’m more likely to actually do something. 

Anyway, here I am making promises to nobody. But at least that nobody will actually know who I am. I’m jumping head first into the world! No stopping! I must start moving because standing still is the worst feeling in the world. Whether what I do is good or bad, I can’t stand being stagnant anymore. 

Contrary to what every little, obnoxious voice in my head has always told me, I don’t need an immaculate first impression to get started. I don’t need to blow people away with every single word I write. I just need to do something and go from there.

So “hey,” is a good enough start for me.