Sitting On The Edge Of Dreams

January 20 2017

No blog posts in a while, hell there's been no writing in a while. I have a tattoo on my arm that says “writers write” meaning unless I write or am in the process of writing I can’t call myself a writer. (note: for me the process of “writing” includes staring into middle distance, getting lost in a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and watching human people do normal human things.) so I guess this winter I haven't been much of a writer at all. That's okay though I haven't been much of a human either.

Every winter kicks the shit out of me depression wise, and anything I write ends up maudlin shite not fit for a teenage emo’s diary. Okay it's well written maudlin shite. But still. I’ve always gone in phases with blogging but I remember when I stopped my usual blogging schedule of once a week without fail. I recall having the thought “why would anyone care?” After that I tried to always be writing *about* something. Of course that wasn't always the case sometimes a combination of words, a clever image, or some other brain sugar spike would vomit itself onto the keyboard and I wouldn't be able to do much else other than polish it up and throw it into internet void.

So this is a quick post to say I’m not dead, I seem to be gathering enough momentum to break out of this depressive orbit I'm on and have new projects planned for this new year.

I started a new job in September, I work nights, and while this has only added to the feeling of this winter being a numb hibernation period because of the depression, I do like the hours. People are surprisingly angry when I tell them my working hours, not shock, or curiosity."I don't know how you do it" they say with a mixture of disgust, pity, and affront. By the way these are the same people that will post on Facebook about how much they hate mornings with tacky memes that if the word "coffee" was replaced with "heroin" their family would be in a semicircle of chairs waiting for them when they get home.

My job starts at 9:30 pm to 7:30. I work in a children's home and it's my job to make sure the young people are asleep and safe. essentially it's my job to be calm, be firm, and be there. I'm the guy that turns your radio off, pulls your sheet over you, and is just a light switch away when the nightmares come.

I'm still relatively new, but I like it. Insomniacs tend to get used to being alone . And alone in a house full of people is an odd type of alone. You can sometimes spot an insomniac by how they move around a house, habits like not letting latches click on doors, or walking down the sides of stairs to minimise the creaks. These are the habits of the terminally awake that fetishisticly worship the sancity of sleep. But even though you miss the sleep there's is something about the alone time that you crave.

So I’ll leave you with that image, me, wrapped in a duvet, sitting on the edge of dreams staring down nightmares and plotting for when I get to see the sun again.

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