The Obscure

Well, it's 2 o'clock in the morning..ish, and it appears my sleeping pills aren't working too well tonight. Of course, I don't have work tomorrow, or "later today" so I don't really have my usual preoccupation with trying to sleep. That being the case, I took it upon myself to get some reading done. I finished "The Hunter's Haunt" by Ol' Davey Dunks, and then started and eventually finished "Dune" for the billionth time, of course written by the late Frank "Big Daddy Love" Herbert.

And now I am really tired, but I feel unintelligent if I go for too long without writing so I figured I'd at least put up a blog post so that maybe I'd get back into the swing of things, I haven't done any journal entries or anything in weeks.
But I don't really have much to talk about, it's hard to be creative when you are well-adjusted, that is the one thing I dislike about being on lithium. I mean, sure, I'm happy; but I am not coming out with all that angsty literary nonsense that pops out of me when I am depressed.
That's alright, though, I'm sure plenty of people can be both happy and creative, you just have to get into the swings on things, as previously discussed.

Whenever I am too tired and my body stops trying so hard to keep me from realizing that I'm a full-blown nutjob, I start to hallucinate. Right now I could swear to you that a woman is murmuring incessantly somewhere behind me, and someone far off to my left is tapping a spoon against a glass over and over again, like the are trying to propose a toast but no one is listening. There are other things, too, but I don't want you all to think I'm really really crazy. If you are deprived of sleep you can develop dementia. Sure. I'll bet it's that.
Right now, if I had a gun, I think I'd shoot myself in the head. It wouldn't even be because I'm suicidal, because I'm not--as I said, I'm well-adjusted now. It would just be an impulse, like when I hit myself in the head with a bat, or stab my couch cushions. It'd be funny trying to get into heaven though. St. Peter would be all, "Well, why'd you kill yourself?" and I'd be like, "I was out of poptarts."
I am out of poptarts, too. But that is nothing to kill yourself over. I am just saying that I would, if I had a gun.
Funny thing is, we have like five guns. But man, I'd have to go get them and load them and, man I'm bored just thinking about it. I mean, who wants to load a gun? Not me, I'll tell you that much. I mean, seriously! Who is loading all these guns that I've been hearing about? I can't think of a less enjoyable thing to do than that.
And that's the trick, mine compadres. That is why I am still alive.
Also, I'd feel guilty about my funeral expenses.

*Edit*

The Author would like it to be known that, several minutes after this original post was finished, he actually found some poptarts in a cupboard; but they were the crappy chocolate kind. The fact that he hated them made no difference to him, and he ate them in silence and in haste, lest the other occupants of his house awake and discover him devouring their entire box of crappy chocolate crap.