Acid Hopscotch

Insomnia. Laying in bed, stuck in that place between waking and logic, and sleeping and reality. My mind won't shut down. It keeps racing back and forth, jumping from thought to thought. This must be what it's like when you play hopscotch after dropping acid:

If I get all the answers, if I learn all the secrets I thought I would in middle age, I guess I'd have to move straight to old age so I'll have something to write about.

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Maybe middle age is about coming to terms with having to accept things, things that aren't fair, things that just happen, so you can learn not to fight dying later on.

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I wonder if people who die young, before they learn to accept, are the ones who become ghosts?

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I'm a necrophiliac, preferring nightly to fuck all my ghosts. What real, living man could ever live up to the drama, the pain, the hope of all those dead lives?

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I hate it when I click a link and my machine starts *doing things and making a lot of noise. I hate that. I just KNOW I've inadvertently downloaded some horrible spyware or virus and the whole system will first be analyzed, laughed at, plagiarized and then destroyed.

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It's scary to think of how far you can end up from where you thought you were going. Never sure if I ever thought of a where...not sure I ever believed it would be any better than it was.

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The weight...not a shield between me and men, a shield between me and *everyone. Most people think fat people are lazy and don't expect too much from them. They don't give them chances. They don't make an effort to talk to you. So if I stay fat, people will leave me alone, not burden with me with a chance or expect anything from me?

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Maybe the weight isn't a shield. Maybe I've been eating something else. Guilt? Anger? Culpability?

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I could stop eating. I feel like I could stop eating, again.

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At this point, I gave up trying to sleep. I got up, did some cleaning, then took some xanax.