this is how i'll be laid when i die, as i fidget my way onto my side in a semi-conscious yet very real effort to completely avoid the thought. it's like a constant countdown, life is. sometimes, as i'm rapt in my oddly detailed fantasies of the circumstances surrounding what dying will inevitably be like for me personally i lose myself in its strange nature of finality and infinity. where i end and everything else begins without me. the all-consuming, mind-numbing absolute fear of death grips my thoughts and gnaws at everything. when is it appropriate to accept dying? i don't see that acceptance happening. i think i am one of those people who would rather live with the lowest possible quality of life, constantly wracked with disease and pain than not live.

finally in these confused and unhappy recent weeks i've realized the source of my insomnia: fear of not awakening. i don't want to miss anything. i want to witness the barely detectable revolution of the earth. i want to touch the curl of a raccoon claw. i want my joints to ache from movement and stresses of travel. i want to fire a machine gun. i want to be rolled over in an ocean wave. i want new socks on hardwood floors. i want to make love.

i want to stay up all night.