Written at 1150 pm, Feb 26, 2003 (Paris time)

Its almost midnight and I’m still very much awake. Its not because I cant sleep. That isn’t me after all. I love sleep. The minute I lie down I can doze off almost immediately…well most of the time, that is.

But tonight I choose to not sleep yet. I’m trying a little experiment. See, since I got here, I’ve never had a good night’s sleep. I always wake up some time in the middle of the night. Okay, I wake up at an ungodly hour. Think 3 am, 4 am, 5 am. And that just isn’t the kind of restful sleep that I need or want.

Someone once told me that not being able to sleep well (either getting too much or getting too little) means that something’s wrong. Something’s up.

Honestly I don’t know what could be bothering me. I don’t know of anything new that bothers me. I just have the usual things that I think of, the usual questions that I have. Nothing new. Nothing to have wrong sleep patterns over.

So I just sit here at my little desk in my little rented studio (which I’m not paying for by the way) and type away at my borrowed laptop. I have a football game on TV, but I’m not really watching. I have a book right beside me, but I’m not really reading.

I’m typing but not really writing.
I’m bothered but not really.
I am….or am I really?