insomniac || j.d.

journal entry

Entry #17 in: my journal? does it need a name?

the institution keeps their plants alive, and I guess that's saying something. one living plant for every dead patient.

they have a lot of plants.

but that isn't even a valid accusation, my mind just rambles on and on as i pad through the chopped wet grass. all the windows are shut tight and inside all the lights are off.

it could be me in one of those rooms with the window latched and the light off, but you can't keep me cooped up. put me in an insane asylum and i'll find a way out. not out to the point where i run away, but to the point where i'm not physically forced to stare at the yellowing ceiling and wish i was somewhere else. i've done too much of that in my life.

the moon looks too pretty to be viewed from behind a barred window anyways.

there's a guard with the same idea as mine- a night time walk. but sadly our objectives are very different. i hop behind one of the dozens of perfectly rounded bushes and hold my breath.

i seem to be pretty good at the whole holding my breath thing. the guard moves on and so do i, planting myself on the grass underneath the sixty-seventh window.

yes, i've counted every window. one hundred and forty-seven in total. there's one hundred and twelve on the main building and thirty-five on the separate psychiatric ward.

they're really big on natural light like the suns rays will cure your soul or some shit, i don't know.

the night is dark except the occasional flashlight which i have to hide from.

my mind finds different things to think through, like the idea of a balanced circadian rhythm. ha.

then it wanders some more, venturing to my childhood. warm pools of water at night, the sound of cicadas, soft music. i close my eyes and remember the good times before i'm reminded of the bad times.

another flashlight.

i sigh quietly behind the trusty bush and let my memories overtake me again.

gentle hands, the keys on the piano, colors of pale yellow and baby blue.
the strum of a guitar i never learned how to play. my brothers sweet low laughter and the morning song of the birds.

my brain wishes to sleep finally, and i let it, or rather it lets me.

after a solid three hours of snoozing behind the bush, my mind is awake again and i'm crawling back into my window.

September 23rd, 2009
4:12am
-ro