Friday, April 5, 2013

If this doesn't make sense, just know I wrote it during a bout of lonely insomnia. Cheers.

There's a part of my brain that turns on at 12:30 in the morning sometimes. This part of my brain is intimately intertwined with whatever part of my body holds onto my deepest dreams and desires. This part of my brain never chooses a regular time of day to recognize how mirage-like those dreams and desires appear.

This part of my brain is a night owl. It likes to stay up late and have its say, and there aren't many voices that can quiet it.

This part of my brain is the meanest part of me, the voice of Simon Cowell, conjuring up its darkest English wit to demean and belittle when I am most vulnerable. In other words, when I am tired. When I have spent the day valiantly fighting off thought-demons of self-deprecation and faithlessness. When I have laughed multiple times in the face of a doom-and-gloom hopeless future and said, "No! I am awesome, and I don't need a boyfriend or a completed checklist of life accomplishments or a degree from a prestigious university (which I might technically have anyway) to confirm that awesomeness."

At 12:30 in the morning, this part of my brain mimics Heidi Klum's ice queen voice and whispers, only whispers, "As you know in Awesome, one day you're in and the next you're out," putting oh-so-slight emphasis on those last two words.

But it's now 2 o'clock. And I think that part of my brain is getting drowsy again. So I'll kindly put him to sleep. And I'll remind him that life isn't scripted like a Hallmark Channel movie, so it's not predictable. Which makes it unsettling, yes. And scary, you bet. But also full of possibility, instead of forced to fit a pattern.

Good night, dear brain, dear voice, dear void. I feel you'll be my companion throughout life. But I'm going to fill you with so many fulfilled dreams and lived desires that even Bravo won't consider you worthy of a reality show. I certainly don't find you entertaining.