Archimedes' Eureka

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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I chide my insomniac self. Staying up all night, thoughts swimming around in my head. That can't be good. Right? When the thoughts get too intense, too confusing, I pick up a book. Only to find out that it increases the profoundness of the thoughts that I am trying to get rid of. At times, I meditate. And for a while, my mind is blank of everything except a nonexistant spot hanging in mid air and the sound of my systematic breath. But.. only for a while.

I wake my sleeping phone. I decide to call someone who would exhaust me mentally until I feel sleepy enough to close my eyes and get lost. It's not difficult to decide who to call. But then, I hesitate. How selfish of me to disturb other people in the middle of the night or at the break of dawn! I kill my phone again.

Then I realize that only one thing will cure this thought addiction. I walk over to my shelves. I take a pencil and tap it against my pouted lips while I look for paper. Should I write in one of my notebooks or on loose leaf? I smirk at myself. Why is that so important?

I sit on my bed. I tap the pencil against one of the numerous scattered pillows. I can't write. Too many thoughts. Too many ideas. Too much to spill. Too much. I try to scribble until I come up with something that makes sense... Nothing. Not one thing. Not even a sentence fragment.

I sigh and push back my freshly cut bangs. The strands rush back home. Then, I do what I always do. I bite down on the end of the pencil. And I curl a strand of hair around my index finger. Over and over and over again. And my mind starts functioning under the magical combination of stress and insomnia. Generating thoughts. Putting them in order. Evaluating them. Making sure they aren't nonsensical.

Ha! I take the pencil out of my mouth. My mom would be appalled at all those bite marks. I put it against the paper. And I write... I write this. I spill out the daily routine resulting from my confusion. Who am I, really?