Jumbled Thoughts of a Flu Induced Insomniac

I wrote all this in a journal uber early this morning, my weary and heavy eyes couldn't bear to look at a computer screen. That's right, I went all old world nostalgia for you. 4:21am Wednesday I'm already thinking about Christmas: who to buy for and what to get them. I must keep it to the bare essentials of people. Harsh sounding, I know, but I don't have oodles of cash to dole out on every person I've crossed paths with and deem them worthy of a gift. I'm mean. I think it's me just being honest and not mean. Now I'm meandering. 6 people, that's about it I think: parents, sister, and 3 best friends. Although there's one person that could change that number. I'm not a large fan of surprise gifts. You know.....someone you didn't get a gift for and wasn't expecting to get a gift from gets you a gift, so now you have to get them one in order to eliminate awkward moments. Then you get mildly irritated at the fact that you have to go do a rush shop. Geez, Christmas is 7 weeks away and I'm already stressing out about it. Good news is I already know what I'm getting one person, so that's one off the list. Just have to get it. That will come. Tomorrow is more or less Guy Fawkes Day. I watch "V for Vendetta" on November 5th every year, and that day only (circumstances permitting of course). I've successfully changed how I write my capital M's, as in I don't have to actively think about doing it, I can just write the new M. At some point or other I've always changed a letter or two. Maybe it's a subconscious thing: for years I've been on an unassuming mission for what I feel is how I can perfectly execute my native tongue's alphabet. I think I have accomplished said mission.....granted nothing seems to match. It's quirky yet flows with precision and grace. Geez, I sound vain and entirely narcissistic. About my handwriting/printing. Chicken scratch really. Drunk and pretentious chicken scratch. Haha, I'm envious of the handwriting of others, so neat and clean. And the handwriting of some of the other people involved in those others make me glad that my motor skills are "sharp" and I'm not as awkward as I initially thought. Still, my writing is weird, but the M's were the missing piece. Well done. I can't properly hold the pen here due to a teeny laceration. Funny how something so small can do that. The pages look like my hand is being guided by someone else other than my own neurological commands. My duvet seems to slide further and further off the foot end of my bed every night. I have to exert a lot of pulling force to readjust causing me to use up my energy reserves. Currently there's hardly any in them. There's no heroic expenditure reminiscent of "thrusters engage!", it's more along the lines of an old man grunting and wheezing while he tries to stand up from an armless, cushy, too-low-down chair. Crisis averted, warmth and comfort retrieved. I love this movie. It's in my top 3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. One of my favorite lines is: "Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks." Go figure, I'm unable to sleep when I'm in the perfect nook that's so warm and comfortable. A perfect fit we are. So instead I leave and put on a movie, and suddenly I feel the sleep coming. The opening credits for this one aren't even done. I'm just like my mother that way. She always falls asleep in movies, before it even really starts. David Cross making a birdhouse is sublime and truly funny in it's delivery. I'm going to slip into sleep now, but first a lullaby: ".....Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine, thou art lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry Clementine....." How somber. I like it. Meet me in Montauk. Breathe. 4:48am Wednesday