The bottom line is Scary Smart Chicks (SSC) should not be expected to go through life sober. I try doing a data dump in the hopes of allaying the inability to sleep. Maybe if I write down all the random thoughts pinging around in my brain, I shall thus conquer insomnia. So, here are the rantings of a mad woman.
Nights like this I need Brain Caulk – vodka, Valium, wine, Xanax – at the end of your tether, you reach for the end of the alphabet. Gaslighted and ridiculed for being right, I need chemical assistance to tamp down the inner homicidal maniac. Goddess damned MS Word just capitalized Maniac for me – who the hell do they think they are? How much did they pay for their poetic license and who was the corrupt issuing agency? Is fear of normalcy treatable with an ineffectual writing career? And who, if not me, can resist the call of vicissitude?
Just a couple of puffs of the swirling soothing smoke, a couple of sips of fine Alambic brandy and I won’t have to fight, I could let it win. Then sleep, satiated for a time.
Damn eyelids keep popping open. Thoughts rush ahead of pen – at least this old school approach – putting pen to paper – slows the words down. Honestly, I can feel them, the words, crowding out the occasional cloud of calm as they collide in contradictory arguments. I feel worn ruts in the grey matter of my brain where “you will never amount to anything” and other echoes from childhood go claptrapping along deeply incised wounds. I try batting off flies with wings made of words.
“I am loved”
“I am strong”
Flutter byes oft silently repeated, lessening the harmful old patterns, like sticker weeds they have no permanent solution.