But I’m not tired enough…
For the second day in a row, I parked my ass at my desk at 6:30am and did not leave the office until 5:45pm.
That is an extremely long work day by anyone’s standards, but as I sit here with my eyes heavy and my body weary, I worry that I didn’t push myself hard enough.
Because I can still remember what I’m trying to forget.
I’m not just working all this overtime for the beaucoup bucks and the intense satisfaction of knowing that I’ve accomplished a great deal over the past three weeks.
I’m trying to keep myself distracted. However, I’m playing mind games with a mind far too sophisticated to fall for such tricks.
What does a guy have to do to make himself so fatigued that he finally forgets?
My morning routine has been the same. Get up super early, rush out of the house, eat breakfast at work, and then work, work, work, work.
My job can be incredibly mindless because it is extremely repetitive. This is exactly what I need. I don’t want my brain to be too engaged. When that big blob kicks into high gear, there is no way for me to control my thoughts.
And right now, my mind keeps wanting to drift to the same place my heart is, and that is simply unacceptable.
So I sit at my desk for close to eleven hours every day and do my very best not to think about much of anything at all. I’m getting a crazy amount of work done, but I can’t make myself forget.
My thoughts keep drifting where they’re not supposed to go, even though my mind and body want to hibernate.
When I allow myself a break, I read The Long Walk by Stephen King. It’s a very entertaining book and I’m loving every word. It should be enough to keep my mind engaged, and yet, I can’t make it forget.
The book is about one hundred teenagers engaged in a government sponsored death march that offers a Big Prize to the winner. The contest ends when only one member of the group is still alive.
Basically, I’m reading a very creepy tale about exhaustion and sleep deprivation and whining that I’m not tired enough. The book is set in Maine, so maybe I should head out onto I-95 and duplicate the route taken by the characters.
Do you think that would work?
Or would my famous neighbor sue me for stealing his idea?
Instead, I toss and turn in the dark and my mind kicks into overdrive. Left alone with my thoughts in my giant, empty bed, I’m defenseless to stop the journeys on which my brain wants to take me.
They’re always to the same place. Always the same beautiful green eyes. The same gorgeous smile. That charming accent that I cannot resist.
Why do my thoughts want to go where they have been forbidden to travel? Don’t they realize the only way I’m going to get through this is if I clear my mind and obey the no trespassing signs posted all around that section of my memory?
Nothing works. These are not the thoughts you’re looking for, Austin!
Search your feelings. You know what you’re supposed to do…
I’m so tired, Modern Philosophers. Tired of not being as happy as I should be. Tired of having no control over where my life goes. Tired of having these amazing plans for the future and then having them taken away as if they were only just a dream.
I’m sorry this post is a rambling mess, but I’m too tired to write anything coherent.
Yet not tired enough to stop my wandering mind…
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