I'm a week late on the blog post for last week and really cutting it close to not writing a blog post for this week. I'd like to blame it on my lack of discipline, and definitely on having too much to do on top of being a little too stressed out for my own good. My shitty monkey brain hasn't been cooperating with me as of late, but really I can't complain too much. No one ever truly operates under ideal conditions one hundred percent of the time. So, in an attempt to make up for lost time, I'm going to drop a double post on this sleepless morning while I'm waiting for people to wake up here in LA. If I was back home I'd already be up and walking around the city, but LA is a beast that doesn't have great public transportation. That just leaves me trapped in an apartment, waiting for people to get up so we can do things. Until then I guess I'll just keep writing.
Crossing Streets
With purpose I cross the street.
My stride is brisk; my steps sure, short, and swift.
My shoulders are straight and relaxed as I march on to my final destination
I take a few glances over my shoulder, take a few quick peeks over,
making sure no one's creeping up.
I converse with other travelers walking down the road
All the while watching what they hold in their hands, hide in their pockets, listen to their speech
and try my best to see what's underneath.
I'm careful, I'm patient.
My eyes are on the prize; my mind suffers no hesitation.
I listen for irregularity, I'm quick to react and diffuse any provocations and possible altercations.
I slip past the slippery and ease my pace for those who wish to walk with me.
But I watch my back knowing how quickly these people could disappear or turn on me.
Even still, I bear no grudges and harbor no hate.
There's a place I've got to be, so all that baggage can wait.
I move cautiously and swiftly.
These streets are cold, the world is mean, and the only person who can always watch my back is me.
And I can't walking carrying every burden holding me down, holding on to all the mental baggage that
threatens to pull my soul into the ground.
I drop my trash in a bin full of left over dreams, feelings, thoughts and regrets.
I don't have time to carry my trash, I have to move on to what's next.
Cars speed by and I dodge foot traffic.
The lights are blinding, the shuffle grinding, almost purposeless.
It is a low monotonous hum of souls passing by, threatening to pull me in like a riptide.
But I fight and move against the grain.
There is a place I have to be, and my life won't wait for me.
I reach the end of the block and look both ways down where the intersection meets.
With purpose I cross the street.
Sleepless in LA
I have a habit of sleeping late and waking up early. Normally this would be problematic, being constantly sleep deprived is terrible for your mind and body, but you would think that this wouldn't be as big a deal when you're on vacation, right? Not quite. My circadian rhythm has adapted to my terrible sleeping practices, and where most people would just sleep in for the weekend, I wake up at the buttcrack of dawn and can't go back to sleep until late at night. Since I'm not in the city that I live in, nor does any real form of public transportation exist here in LA that makes sense to me, I'm stranded with nothing to do, and unable to fall back asleep. I'm basically stuck in an apartment, using a laptop that isn't mine to try and fill my time with something useful that isn't watching youtube videos and going brain dead. The curtains are drawn, shielding the sunlight from coming in, but it's so bright that all the light cannot be prevented from creeping in. The apartment is quiet, only the sounds of slow, light breathing can be heard from the bed, and I sit here typing away trying to focus my mind on something constructive, and am finding almost next to nothing.
Being sleepless is almost maddening. I can barely think clearly, and after a few moments of blanking out, my body goes numb, or parts of it fall asleep, and I'm left to contend with the stinging needle-like sensation of trying to wake up my sleeping feet. I try not to move too much, at risk of disturbing those whom are able to rest, but I am restless. It is a zen-like practice to sit and wait when all your body wants to do is move. By now, I would already be moving around, getting ready, heading out the door for my morning commute, morning stroll, or even just to go to the neighborhood bakery and say hello to all the folks who pass by. But I'm not. Instead I'm in a quiet room, isolated from the world outside.
When I close my eyes, I can hear the constant hum of cars passing by. They sound a lot like ocean waves that flat lined, and only make the sound right as they break. Every once in awhile I can hear a low, rumbling groan, much like a strong wave breaking against the rocks, and recognize it as the sounds of buses and semi-trucks going by. Every once in awhile, I hear motorcycles pass, sounding like a storm is breaking, but even then it doesn't last for very long. The more I focus in, the more like an ocean it sounds to me, an ocean I personally would not sail across, but an ocean nonetheless. There is beauty in that empty space, between my vision and my hearing but it brings me no closer to sleep.
I start to hallucinate a little, hear things that aren't there, but when I breathe slow and deep, the noises disappear, and all I hear is the ocean of engines. It is almost as ceaseless as the Pacific, and feels almost as vast. I breathe in much more slowly, and exhale gently, trying to sense anything unfamiliar. But for the 30 minutes that I do this, I sense nothing, as if all this is all too familiar. And in truth, being sleepless in LA isn't quite so different than being sleepless anywhere else. It's just that today, I'm not allowed to leave this apartment alone.
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