a.m. frugalities

I can't sleep anymore. I have had trouble sleeping since Zach left. A year of sleeplessness, then, almost.
Instead, I spend hours reading and note taking, articles on frugal living, and home steading, and make it yourself laundry detergent/peanut butter/ battery chargers/ plastic bag rugs/ rag quilt patterns/ preserves and the myriad of uses for viniegar and baking soda. Trying to remember how to make those earth batteries that run on magnetism, how to over dub sound on digital film, where to find those pink noise boxes so Tanya and I can re learn spanish before our south american gallavanting, and the best motivation techniques to make people do their dishes, without sounding like anyone's mother.
Stay awake writing the outlines for the 4 movies, 2 1/2 plays, 25 million sketches, and 1.75 novels I am working on. Because such things can only truly be hammered out at 3:14 am, with work a mere three hours away.
Stay awake making haphazardly measured pillows, ghetto quilts, lampshade coverings, and household chore wheels. Doing severe damage to my wee sewing machine in my haste and fog.
Stay awake studying muscle relaxation techniques that are said to help people sleep. Ha.

Stay awake thinking about any number of things, from what it must feel like to kill someone, to what it must feel like to die, to wondering what other people think about when they walk down a flight of stairs, to how I should go see my neices, to grey water toilet systems and how do you build a raised garden bed? to how our six foot high sunflowers died so long ago but never fell down, and now they are huge and black and menacing and how maybe they are the reason we didn't get any trick or treaters on Halloween, to "can ghosts touch you?", to the dream I had about having babies, and since 2/13 was specifically referanced in the dream, should I research that date? to my thoughts on poligamy, to the fact that Spencer would save all the dead birds he found in the laundry vents of the apartment building he managed, and wondering what he ever did with them, to ideas, ideas, ideas for every fucking thing I've ever fucking heard about.

Stay awake photo coping massive letter tomes from the backthen of things, putting pictures in albums, finding scrawled poems written in the margins of books I'm giving away, only to then stay awake trying to figure out if I wrote it, or if it belongs to another. And if I did, when was it, and who was it for? Which leads to more awake, spent in the process of recollectin' and such. Of searching through dressers and trunks to find a line I wrote in highschool that reminded me of a bird, and "which part of that Ginsberg epic did she think I would like?" And, "did I keep that ecology reader I sent a copy of to Matt while he was in prision, or did I send the original? Because nothing else could possibly describe ecology as it relates to economic theory quite as well.." and on and on and on until I finally fall asleep watching Bryan's copy of the "Dune" miniserise at 4am, put on in an act of desperation for something to make.my.brain.stop.


They say taking magnesium an hour before bed should do the trick. To think, I've been taking it every morning as part of my quit smoking process/plan (it's supposed to add a balance to your brain that staves off the cravings. Another thing learned during another long night..).


fuck.