How To End?

I cannot sleep. Maybe it's because I simply will not - too many things could happen. For example:

-My last thoughts could lead me to perverted dreams that would only label me as some sort of classic Sigmund Freud case.
-I may eventually fall asleep, but the nighttime heat will only cause me to spring awake at random intervals throughout the night until I simply won't be able to take it anymore.
-I'll fall asleep to beautiful music only to realize that my dreams took that away from me by morning.
-I'll somehow choke on my own vomit halfway through a horrible nightmare and end up dying of asphyxiation.
-I'll wake up at 2 p.m. and wish I hadn't wasted half my day.

There is a whole universe of different scenarios racing around in my little mind, but my lazy fingers aren't willing to type them all out.

Sleep. It was always difficult for me to embrace it when I was younger, which was not too long ago during a stage in my life when I was unaware of the side effects accompanying the presence of too many pain-in-the-ass classes. When there is no pressure to get work done, then there is no reason to willingly procrastinate...only to find yourself, past midnight, lying in a pool of crumpled history notes and saliva caught in the slow process of drying. That, I assure you, is one of the best ways to appreciate the minimal amount of sleep you're able to sneak in between stressful school hours.

However, that's no way to live. It's not routine or healthy or condonable. No one's gonna want to hang around someone who only gets 4-5 hours of sleep regularly - it'd be like trying to start conversations with a zombie. And that zombie - unfortunately, like many others of her kind - happens to be a moody, ill-tempered zombie who's probably trying to gnaw your neck off with unnatural fervor (if we were to take into consideration the very nature of zombies).

That's not to say I nibble at people's necks. That would be weird. But basically, I don't feel myself half the time and it sucks. Sleep deprivation was never something I had to deal with before, because having a lighter work load and lots of lots of free time came with that benefit. But as a consequence, I had a much harder time trying to get my eyes to close naturally on their own accord. I never found myself dozing off with my forehead plastered against pages of essays at 3 a.m. It was just idle little me sweating under the covers, constantly flipping the pillows over to feel the cool side against my head.  Sometimes I'd lie in bed staring off at the ceiling, unsure of why I was still staring at the same dark, creepy spot by the vent that was probably a spider of some sort (but, seriously, who wants to think about that? At the same time, though, ignoring it wouldn't make it go away...).

It would be hours and hours of this nonsense.

And here I am; the same thing occurring again. It's like spontaneous recovery or something, driven by this long spring break in which I have nothing to work on that will be due in the immediate future. It's really unsettling, not knowing which is better: frantically trying to get things done during the middle of the night, wishing for sleep as I work my exhausted little brain off; or fighting to rip free from my consciousness during the middle of the night, no stress to worry about as I struggle to slip into a deep slumber?

I know I can't be the only one with this problem. There are way too many people on this planet for it to be solely mine, a solitary battle fought alone. So does it make me a selfish person if I take comfort in this fact?

Grrr. If only life was simple. (But there's this part of me that's like, "No, you would never wish that. Simplicity may make life a hell of a lot easier and more uniform, but where's the beauty if there ain't no complexity? We marvel in complete and utter awe at discovery, at the gradual unraveling of things we had not understood before! So don't say that you wish life was simple, because that's a load of bull.")

I feel that if I were to post this thing as it's looking right now, it would be incomplete. Like I've just walked off midsentence in a conversation you and I were fully engaged in (while, of course, I was in my zombie trance trying to nibble you). I guess this whole blogging idea of being honest about myself is something I'm going to have to learn about along the way. Which is scary, but also amusing. And somewhat exciting?

Yeah, there's some excitement in there as well. A little.

Mainly uncertainty, though, if I were to be completely honest (which is my goal).

Should I end now?