rejectomorph | Reset Forty-Nine, Day One Hundred Fifty-Five

A great deal of the time I am awake I now spend thinking about being asleep. There are other things to think about, but they are too troublesome. The turmoil of other thoughts is quieted by the one thought of sleep, and the waking hours gotten through with little more stress than the hours of actual sleep. The problem then is that I have nothing to say. Nothing happens unless some surprise comes along, and I don't like surprises. Surprises are the waking world's equivalent of nightmares. So, serenity leads to silence, as I suppose it should, and only the aggravation of stress brings words. Or at least interesting words. Dull word are easy to come by, and I've produced an abundance o those over the years. I find I do miss the interesting words. But sleep would be so nice. Especially now, when it is pas tmy bedtime.

It's gotten chilly in here. Must be ghosts.