It’s gotten to the point where sleep is like the worst thing I can do if I want to get this book written. Every night, it’s like this: the second I fall into bed, the thoughts start coming freely. They are rife with literary brilliance, completely unique from my normal (boring) everyday thoughts, magical…and seemingly unachievable by daylight. I sit up, they’re gone. I lay down, whammo.
I’m beginning to think I’m like one of those take home “Don’t Get Knocked Up” baby dolls, where there’s like this sensor in my round rubber head and it goes off whenever I move. Totally unfair, in my opinion, because I would SO like to give birth to some fabulous ideas.
This might sound like nothing more than the sleep-deprived rantings of a somewhat already warped individual, but I SWEAR I’m making a valid point here.
Anyway, I’m gonna go put my head down and see what happens…