A World Of My Own Creation

Didn't make myself get up this morning. I'm falling back into the trap of not going to class. Of laying in bed and drifting in and out of sleep. Of just taking Ambien or Xanex to make myself sleep because, when I'm asleep, I don't have to think. The entire world is blocked out and time just passes unnoticed.

This is going to be the semester I lose my scholarship. I can almost guarantee it.

I need to just whip myself back into shape. Suck it up and keep moving. Get a little bit of momentum back so I can slingshot myself through the end of the semester.

It's funny, because I embrace sleep all through the day, but resist during the night. The night is my own. The night is Ed's domain. The night is a source of creativity and mischief. The night is where transcendence occurs. At night, I can live in my own world of my creation.

When I saw this picture with the quote, I was rather intrigued. My first reaction was surprise at how true it was. The night, sleep, death, this is where I live. This is where my truth is.

Out in the world. During the day. I walk around with a smile on my face and a lie on my lips. I pretend like I know what I'm doing, when really, I have no fucking clue.

Josh is dead. I saw them bring his coffin off the plane. I imagined his body in that coffin. I wondered what it's like. The visitation is this Friday and the funeral is Saturday. It's in Kentucky, so I won't be able to go, but I someday wish to visit his grave.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm really not ever much of the "talking to dead people like they can hear you and visiting graves" type. I mean, he's dead. He can't hear what I'm saying and he'll never know whether I visited the grave or not.

I always thought people were silly for doing stuff like that. But I think now I understand. I've lost grandparents before, but they were always ready to go. They had lived a full life. Josh was 21. And he was my rock. He was my fucking rock.

He talked to me in the night, even when he was on shift. His sarge would get after him and make him run. He promised me he wouldn't go anywhere. And he always had a logical answer to my questions.

Was that just a beautiful lie? Is this just the painful truth?