I've never had a summer of so little sleeping ( well except of course for when my son was a baby). I don't know what's wrong. Nothing exciting is happening, nothing stressful. But for some reason I am fighting to sleep. I am always tired, so each night I feel grateful as I climb the stairs, and plop myself into bed. But I am also wary and weary, anticipating the struggle, that stands in place of the longed for serenity of sleep.

I'm exercising so it isn't the lack of being physically tired. And now I keep thinking I'm running out of days, too soon it will be September and I will have less time and more stress, taking away sleep. (which of course isn't helping me relax and go to sleep, "hurry up and sleep now, who knows when you will get this chance again!"

I keep wondering if it is the writing, I mean the lack of it, perhaps creating a subconscious gnawing feeling, like hunger that keeps one awake, the distant uneasy feeling of something left perpetually undone. I don't know if that could be it, that seems too simple, but then as it is so simple why not try it? yet somehow I resist again and again doing it to see if that would make a difference. I know I wander in unease at night. My body seems still, my mind seems still (filled with nothing), but I am perpetually wandering in a place of unease, that lies vast and long, between being awake, and being asleep. I set my daydreams in my mind, as I have always done, to lead me from one state to the next, but I keep losing them along the way, and am lost in nothingness.

An unusual photo to pick. I was looking for one blurry and grey, a blue rain day. But this one called to me instead. The fire somehow being sleep, bright in the darkness, and the one tending the fire, being a gate keeper of sorts, the one who would keep me out, or invite me in. And that is my riddle, what tasks must I do so the guardian of sleep will let me enter. (if I knew how to photo shop, I could be rid of the chair, which detracts, but perhaps then that represents the so far, immovable object)