Grrrr......

I've been quiet for a while. Things have been rough. Work, mostly, but life in general have been just about all I can handle for a while. I haven't been sleeping. Now, I've been an insomniac since I was in junior high, so running on three hours' sleep a night is nothing new. There was even a period in college, about two weeks, where I went sleepless or maybe an hour a night. That was a scary time, real Fight Club territory, except I couldn't afford an apartment full of Ikea crap to blow up.

Lately it isn't insomnia, precisely. I could very easily go to sleep. I tend to be exhausted by the time midnight rolls around, but I keep the lights on. The thing is, I don't want to sleep. It's not that I'm that angst filled, or that I can't slow my mind down. It's just that sleeping means morning will get here that much sooner and frankly, I want to put it off.

You know that cliche about an iron fist inside a velvet glove? Well lately it's more like a hand grenade in a tube sock. And someone just hits you with it until it goes off. Mornings tend to feel like something from a video clip show where a small child hits you in the nuts with a comical object, except that the clip you're in, as much as everyone laughs, doesn't win the prize money. That goes to the cat falling into the dryer.

One of the guys at work built a database of history trivia to use on our signage displays and the other day it ran a nifty factoid: The guy who figured out grapeshot cartridges for cannons was named Sir Henry Shrapnel. I haven't hit up Wikipedia to see if this true or not, but it feels just absurd enough to be right.

That's enough for now. I leave you with the lyrics to the song I use to get myself psyched up to go once more into the breach. The band is Rise Against.

Behind Closed Doors

Chairs thrown and tables toppled,
Hands armed with broken bottles,
Standing no chance to win but,
We're not running, we're not running.

There's a point I think we're missing,
It's in the air we raise our fists in,
In the smiles we cast each other,
My sister, my brother.

About the time we gave up hoping
We'd ever find these locks still open,
Stumbling on stones unturned,
The hurt we feel, we all have earned.

The lines we cross in search of change,
but all they see is treason.

Although we have no obligation to stay alive
On broken backs we beg for mercy, we will survive
(Break out) I won't be left here
Behind closed doors.

Bonfires burn like beacons,
Guiding the lost and weakened.
Flames dance on crashing waves,
Guiding ships who've gone astray

Time out, let's stop and think this through,
We've all got better things to do,
Than talk in circles, run in place,
Answers {are} inches from our face.

Although we have no obligation to stay alive
On broken backs we beg for mercy, we will survive
(Break out) I won't be left here
Behind closed doors.

Black eyes, broken fingers,
Blood drips and I let it run
down my lips into my swollen gums.
When hope is non-existent,
Our instincts all scream "Run",
We never turn our backs or even bite our tongues.

Although we have no obligation to stay alive
On broken backs we beg for mercy, we will survive
(Break out) I won't be left here
Behind closed doors.