It’s just past midnight. I’m sitting upright-ish, in bed. Not able, currently, to sleep. I hate insomnia with the deep-seated hatred of bitter experience.
Sadly, a common cold, or a nights’ disrupted sleep, can be life-threatening for me these days. Why? Because I’ve been ground down by adversity and suffering – and no doubt being a right tit – for sooooooooooooooooo fucking long.
As I lie/sit here, awake. I wish only for oblivion. The cessation of suffering. Or just plain cessation. And such feelings hardly seem hysterical or unreasonable to me.
But I durs’nt act on them. Because that would be cowardly and selfish. Say The Living. To me it would be bold and decisive. A positive move, to bring about a state devoutly wished for.
Ho fucking hum… it’s cowardly selfishness and laziness, and brute in-built survival instincts, that keep me going. What a sorry carry on.