We’re approaching the chimes of midnight, readers, and I’ve found myself in yet another sleepless night with Sunday handing us over to Monday, the death of the weekend in a dark whisper. This seems to be the norm in the penultimate semester of graduate school. I can’t say how much rest I have been able to achieve from week to week, but I know it is far less than recommended.
Thankfully, I haven’t completely lost my mind, and perhaps I can make it to winter break before that becomes a reality, rather than a mere concern lurking about in the depths of my brain.
I suppose my fingers are finding these words because we’re nearing Halloween. It’s been quite some time since I have had any enjoyment in this holiday, but with my sanity in threat, it does seem appropriate that this is what my mind produces. If I thought it would do any good, I would give Rum Brain Moe a call, but alas, he has had to leave town for some time. He told me that it was for a conference on the applications of voodoo in the age of social media, but for all I know, he is just needing an escape. I put him through quite a bit, but I would’ve hoped he would have just come clean with it as he has in the past.
At this point, anyone who comes across this will more than likely believe me to be mad. Perhaps they will be correct, but for those who do find themselves at this conclusion, can they truly blame me? After all, living in this day and age, madness is but an occupational hazard.
Indeed. The 21st century has been far too surreal, a chapter drawn from the LSD fueled chaos of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Everyone has mutated into lizards, and we’re moments away from having them turn on us, tearing us to shreds.
This is where I’m at folks— jumping from one frantic thought to the next. While I want to blame it all on one single problematic point, I don’t have that luxury. There is just far too much going on for me to hold on to any specific thought for a long period of time. There’s homework to be done, grading to submit, work to be completed on multiple fronts. It didn’t work for Napoleon, shifting his attention from Spain and Portugal to Austria. The empire cracked at this point, and the same could be said for my brain cells.
Ah, and here we are, another shift. Hunter S. Thompson to Napoleon and the Grand Army. There seems to be no end in sight in the ugly narrative playing out here. My only hope is that some out there will understand what’s taking shape across this portion of the page.
This thing we call reality is by far the most insane venture we could ever find ourselves in. Keep yourself busy, and you may find yourself with one too many sleepless nights. Some will call this madness, but in the end, it is just the nature of this thing we call life.