Martin

1

I’m staring at the white stucco ceiling above me. Thirty seven seconds from now will mark the third complete hour of this activity, and three hours of having accomplished nothing. I find myself doing this most nights, without intention of course. I don’t think any man would choose to submit himself to a daunting task where he, knowing he could be doing much more, spends his time doing an act so pointless it almost torments him. I would venture to say that it torments me. There is something dangerous about being with your own thoughts for too long, without any interaction or input from the outside world, especially if you are a curious person, a thinker if you will humour me. It is equally dangerous if you are imaginative. I consider myself to be that way also. I won’t be so ignorant as to assume that everyone feels this way and is affected by this condition. It takes a specific character and a certain sequence of events in life to bring a man to this. I believe the others are simply infected with some other disease; it seems to me that most of the modes in which we conduct ourselves are a disease, the symptoms obvious enough to diagnose correctly but to severe and established to cure entirely. There are the ones diseased with their own vanity whereby they have become so absorbed in their narcissistic state that they’ve forgotten they live in a world with others. Anything said or done to them by the outside world is misunderstood, any motion towards rejecting them, as the world has done to many before, and they take offence and engage in a drama that is trite from having been seen so many times. These people are not in danger of being with their own thoughts; their self-directed compliments and vanity only drag them further into the void of narcissism. It may be dangerous for them but they will never see it. There are those diseased with ignorance in its purity and they too have no concept of the outside world. They are the ones who continue to do the same thing everyday –living for the mundane. They choose to ignore the tragedies and injustices around them and thrive on the successes and triumphs of others. I’ve noticed them to be the types who know everything of the famous celebrities and the great peacekeepers and saints of our world. They find comfort in knowing people can succeed but fail themselves because they have no idea of what failure is and don’t see it when they are hit by it. These kinds have no danger in falling prey to their own thoughts, they don’t have thoughts of their own, and they do not form opinions. All that is in their head as been put there, and they will accept it. Quite opposite are those who are completely absorbed in the world around them and take up every cause surrounding them. The people who become great saints and the volunteer of the year types that society looks upon with admiration. The crusaders, as I like to call them, look out in the world and leap to their feet for every cat in the tree. They always have one cause though that they pursue to its extent and they see themselves infallible in their stand point on it. They have no need to be alone with their thoughts let alone to be endangered by them. They consider themselves to be right in every sense of the cause they have taken up and not even they themselves could disprove their cause. There’s no time to be alone with their thoughts, they act on impulse and motor function as opposed to the rest of the world who uses their mental capacity. This is how I see the world, it is my personal view. It may be shared with others, I cannot say for sure. It is a giant colony of infectious diseases lurking around us waiting to feats on their new host, ultimately causing him to destroy himself by his faults. Perhaps I see things in the wrong light and maybe I have just answered my own question as to how I entered this state. Regardless of any of this, that is how I see things and I am here now. It is but my responsibility to carry on with the life I have created.
So I am left lying here on my back, staring at the ceiling above me, unable to sleep. The bed is quite comfortable and leaves me no reason to complain. It is good and stiff the way I’ve always liked my bed to be. Prevents the body from contorting itself in odd position, then you wake up feeling as though you haven’t rested and as though you may have been beaten in your sleep. The room is quite messy most people tell me but it has never bothered me enough to motivate me to straightening it out and organizing things. I’m not lazy, I simply don’t give a damn. I’ve never seen the need for a person’s bedroom to be in good order. It’s my personal space, I close the door so no one sees it and people rarely come into it. It is a waste in my mind to spend the time to clean it. I vacuum yes. There has never been an instant in life where I have seen a need for my room to be carefully organized. Not one moment has come to pass where I have been in a rush to find a specific shirt, pair of pants or other that I have not been able to find it.
It is these little things in life that end up bringing me to insanity after they all add up. It is these things that play havock on my imagination and drive me this desperation for sleep. I have this tendency to visualize scenarios as they relate to things that have happened or I would like to see happen. I also have a tendency to cover all angles and perspectives of the situation usually finishing with the most pessimistic and undersired outcome and it is that outcome that I will stay focused on. It is why being alone with my thoughts is so dangerous. I will remain focused on that one thing that pains me to think of and I will continue to think of it and will cease to focus on the negative angle of the situation. Stuck on everything people have said and wondering if that is how they see me and if it is true of my actions. This will continue on while I am alone to ponder these things. Without the interjections of daily activities and diversions, without interaction with other people, it will continue. And then I am left here staring at the ceiling above me unable to sleep, a self-diagnosed insomniac of my own creation. It serves then that I am also just a host to a disease. Perhaps when I fall asleep something exciting will materialize in a dream and I can come to appreciate sleep.
I dislike sleep for the most part, I find it idle and useless. I do it only when I need to. Usually that is when I have given up on the day and see no purpose in functioning, sleep then serves only to pass the time. I like dreaming though it gives me, assuming it is a pleasant dream, some hope for a better day. An escape from reality. Though seeing as how dreams come from the mind and the recollection of memories mixed with seemingly random objects it seems impossible for me to have a good dream. I have few good memories.