I Am Jack's Dysfunctional Pineal Gland

"With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy, of a copy, of a copy." Narrator, Fight Club

Despite the fact that I'm more at peace with myself now, I'm also entering the fifth straight night of insomnia. I'm too tired to focus, but too wired to relax. I managed perhaps four hours of sleep today, maybe six hours the night before.

I'm not at the point of hallucinating just yet, but I have come up with millions of permutations of every conceivable worst case scenario for a certain missed opportunity. I've though about the economics of interstellar warfare (for a short story that I've been fiddling around with--long story short, doesn't make any economic sense at all). I've wondered about my short term and long term future. I've surfed the web. I've annoyed the crap outta my cat. I've resisted the urge to call friends at 3am in the morning. I'm beginning to look back at those nights filled with dreams about college and missing finals because I haven't studied--in fact, I didn't even know which classes I had been taking because I'd blown them off--with fondness.

Sigh. Maybe I should go to the 7-11 and do some self-medicating--Tylenol PM with a JD chaser.