This Is Insomnia

It is a little after 3:00 in the morning . . .
I yawn while laying on the couch because the bed frustrates me when I can’t sleep.
Ever get this way?
I find myself traversing between sleep and dreams and then waking up, wondering and thinking too much of course about insignificant things. And then I’m awake (like now, for example) with my mind in a million places at once.

I started a series of journals a while ago. I call them My Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac. These are the common thoughts of a common man at uncommon times. And there are times like now, when it seems as if there is something impending. This is not to say what’s coming is about doom per se. More than anything, I find these thoughts mainly occur when I am at the verge of a change. Something new is coming. I can feel it. I can smell it in the air. I just don’t know what it is, if that makes any sense.

I mean, here it is.
We are on the brink of a storm in the Northeast. I don’t know what this means. I know what the weatherman says but regardless of what he says, I don’t know what’s coming. I know this is cause for my anxiety. I don’t like anticipation much. At least, not this kind.
I’d much rather a different kind of anticipation. I’d prefer the anticipation I have during the pre-flight hours, awaiting a trip across the country and I’m off and California bound.
I’d prefer other places in Cali. Not Los Angeles so much or the attitudes that come with it. Not the starriness or the actors or the meetings like the ones I had last time. But . . .
I could use a walk, like the time at Malibu. I could dig some of the street food that I had near Venice Beach. I could use the sun on  my face. I could use the smells of the ocean in a way like never before. I could use the calmness of sand between my toes and nothing on my mind, except for the sound of the waves as they crash along the shore. 

I have to close my eyes to picture this. And I’ve been here before; more than a few times. I’ve seen these places, which at first, I admit to the ideas of novelty and the newness of my experience. I admit to the star struck thoughts of “Hey, maybe I’ll see someone,” until I did and then I was somewhat let down to find out people are still people. Good people are still good people. Bad are still bad and in any language or any place in this world, an asshole is just an asshole (even if its pretty).

I never thought I would see myself where I was. I never thought I would meet the people I met or do the things I’ve done, but hey, this world is full of surprises.

I remember Pasadena, The Hills, staying near The Riot House or watching an actor (whose name is not worth mentioning) driving around in his green Lamborghini with the top down, looking around to see if anyone was bothering to take notice. God, what a plea.
What a sorry plea for attention, revving his engine and looking left and then right to see who takes notice. 

Did you know there is a popular place where the paparazzi standby and wait for people to come around so they can be caught on camera. This is how people resurface or renter their name into the media blitz. I never heard about anything like this before. At least, not until I was nearby. People go here to revive their career. Some get noticed. Some don’t. I suppose I can relate to feeling this way.

I was thinking about this.
I was thinking about the need for validation. I was thinking about the misconception of prestige and the misperceptions of popular attention, which can vanish at any time; just say the wrong thing or play the wrong hand or back the wrong pony and that’s it. You’re out of the race, son.
I thought about the drive to be a valid name, as if being who we are isn’t enough. I thought about the way we are, fame or not, and yet still; we’re all looking to be validated and valued because the worst above all is to feel outdated or expired, forgotten, or just unnecessary because after all, “You had your chance”.
You took a shot and you missed or worse, you never found the invite to the big stage and you missed the whole show.

No one ever wants to feel cast aside. No one wants to be left out or forgotten. No one wants to be the “Has-been” or the “Never-was.” No one ever wants to be, think, or feel as if they are invalid or unworthy. Identity is everything. Who we are, who we think we are, and who we want to be is all tricked by the ego. And the ego can be a bitch. This can make or break us. This can build us or tear us down. We have to be careful here. Ego is not always a friend. Then again, with some good lessons and understanding, ego doesn’t have to be our enemy either.

I don’t think fame or fortune changes human nature. I don’t think money buys everything but you can sure as hell rent it for a while. You can do this for sure until one day, you wake up and find that none of this is real.

I don’t know if I will ever get back there. To Los Angeles I mean. I don’t know where I’ll go, if anywhere, because times are strange enough to keep me awake at night and wonder things like, “Hey, I wonder if that place near Hollywood still serves that sweet corn ravioli.”

It’d be nice to sleep. It’d be nice to have my mind settle my thoughts so that I can stop the swing from dream to dream, long enough where I can find some decent rest. Besides, I have a meeting in a few hours. Come to think of it, the company I’m meeting with has a few offices in Los Angeles. They have offices all over the world.

Could you imagine?

That’s when I play my cards and say, “Sorry, I don’t fly commercially anymore. Only private.”
“Right this way, Mr. Kimmel. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Malibu Beach Inn Hotel Review, Boutique Luxury Hotel: Inviato Travel

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.