Insomnia.

3:46 am.

    I'm sitting on my bed, listening to Past Masters Disk 1 and reading one of my mom's sappy teenage romance novels I would never have even touched if it weren't for my complete lack of anything better to do. Each page I turn seems to be heavier than the last, and reading becomes more and more tedious with every word I decipher. I keep glancing at the clock, wondering when it will strike 5:00, so I can get ready for school.

    It's nights like there-- sleepless nights-- where I think about things the most. I just lay here, contemplating every big or trivial thing; my future, the monotony of life, the temporariness of everything, the corruptness of power, the unfairness of economic class, the sadness of abandoned toys, the symbolism of an empty bottle.

    We're always asking ourselves questions for which there are no justifiable answers. Why are we here? What is life? I can only refute these questions with my own; Why does it matter? Why should we care?

    My questions are asked just as much in vain as the very questions they refute.

I just wish I could sleep.