Urgh. 3 am and still I can't sleep. Maybe it's the unfamiliar bed and surroundings. It might also be that the sounds that lull me to sleep every other night are absent, replaced instead by an all too familiar..silence. (It may surprise people who know me as a quiet person that one of the things I fear most is complete silence.) For the past 2 months, I've made sure that the television or the radio stays on before I can fall asleep. I sleep on the couch, even though there's absolutely nothing wrong with my room. For some reason, I still can't sleep alone there at night. Too many memories..and too much silence. I should state for the record that there's also nothing wrong with Johan's house. It's completely cool and comfortable. But I guess my body seeks the security of the familiar..no matter how much the actual discomfort. What are we humans but creatures of habit? Our very souls shriek against any kind of change imposed forcefully upon us, or a disruption in our well-laid plans. We fear everything and anything that cannot be compartmentalised, categorised and filed neatly away. It is our nature, and woe betide anyone who attempts to change it. Not that it's bad, of course. It's our habitual nature that ultimately makes us..well..human. And honestly, there's nothing else I'd rather be.

I watched an interesting snippet of a movie on Astro today. It was from The Mothman Prophecies, starring the always good looking Richard Gere. In it, he asks a professor of folklore and unexplained phenomena why, if advanced creatures exist among us, do they not come and explain themselves? The professor's reply was short and to the point: we are very much advanced compared to cockroaches. Do we explain ourselves to them? Interesting piece of existentialism there. I'd LOVE to expound on it, but I fear such things are a bit too heavy for an early morning post. Sorry about the very dark tone of the post, Constant Reader. The fact that I've not only been screwed, but buggered inside out and hung out to dry by my ISP is still grating on my nerves. And having my nerves grated is not something I take lightly.

This silence is good, sometimes. I can actually hear myself think. Perhaps we all need a little quiet in our lives. We get so caught up chasing what we perceive to be our dreams that we often forget if they are even our dreams at all. How many people you know who are still confused about their lives? Add one to the total. I am, though not too badly. Hopes, wishes, wants, dreams. What are they but the currency of our existence? Our wishes grow to hope, which we lace with effort to become wants, and when they don't work out, become dreams. Am I making sense? Probably not. But then again, does anything?

He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.
Douglas Adams (1952 - 2001), "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"