Insomnia isn't a bitch. It's a steroid-raging, professional weight lifting asshole.

I have way too much in my brain at the moment. The cliché question is: what the fuck is the point? I mean, all lofty existentialism aside, life is only as meaningful as I make it. Right?

I tell people that the purpose of life is to be kind and be happy. I feel as though attributing your existence to anything else is just making wild assumptions based on some bizarre-o world concoction that lives only on the mind of the subject.

Though it would be pretty hysterical if the whole planet was just an exhibit in an interstellar zoo for giant aliens. My reaction to that discovery would probably be something like, "Well, duh. What did you think was going on, exactly? And when do they feed us? The gas in my apartment has been out for a week and I'm starving."

Thanks a lot for the weird, speculative existentialism, Makers Mark. That's so like you; always looking out.

I hope for your sake that I'm already asleep.

Fucking 3am

"Why do you stay up all night and drink whiskey if you have work at 9am and then have class until 10pm?"

"I'm an insomniac. And I forgot to buy ice cream. Shove off."

Note to Future Lindsey:
After class tomorrow, but before passing out with the dogs on the amazing rug in the living room that you nabbed for $40 marked down from $155 because the dumb bastards at Ikea don't know how to use stain remover, stop at the 24 hour Kroger and buy some fucking cookie dough ice cream. And milk.* And maybe some Tylenol PM.

Goodnight to those who sleep. And by "good", I mean "shit" because I'm totally jealous moody due to lack of sleep and ice cream (not in that order).

*Also, get some more Eukanuba for the beasts. And some juice. And cheese (American and parm). And see if you can find someone to take your card and get a can of Bali Shag while you're at work tomorrow. /to-do list