Goodness, it seems I have so much to say. I have journals everywhere. My mind goes non stop. I am trying to do so many things at once. If I could find that off switch I have been looking for, then I would flip it.
I need to learn how to meditate. When I try all I can think about is...Am I doing it right? Maybe writing is my meditation. That is the only time when I can tune out the outer world to listen to the inner world.
Sleep would be nice. I never get enough of it. That began when I was a child. My bedroom was the living room. I slept on a couch from the time I was five years old until I got married at nineteen. All those years I slept in what could only be identified as public space. No, I am not whining about how bad I had it as a kid. I am just stating where my insomnia began.
I suppose it doesn't help I am surrounded by ticking clocks. In this digital world I find I like the old fashioned movement of hands counting their way around numbers. But then I complain of the noise.
Well, I have rambled, chased rabbits, forgotten the point of this whole cursor chase across the page. Oh yes, it was I have so much to say. I didn't say it would make sense.