Smoking

Puffing away on ciggies while picking on Malteesers, trying to come up with ways on how to sleep better at night. Counting sheep or elk or smoldering hot men in chef hats is a farce. Listening to Chopin or Mozart or crickets going at it isn't working either. I've practically read every book and magazine and manual in the house. Watched all the pirated DVDs (ancient & recent) supplied by our very own door-to-door Chinese bootlegger. What is so wrong with me that I can't sleep?

In the homefront, things are relatively fine. My Dad and I still have our occasional vocal exercises that drive my Stepmum nuts, but other than that things have been mellow between all of us. I still miss my Mom and nephew but the homesickness has become tolerable. I've well adjusted to the new (non) life I have now. I've simply resigned myself to the fact that my party days are over, having little or no desire to go out to clubs. Give me a choice between a TV or book night and a night of frolicking in town, and I'd pretty much pick the former. Is it the lack of friends to hang or party with, or my Dad's short leash, or my apprehension in meeting new people that lessens the appeal of clubbing? One or the other, perhaps all.

My (non) date with Adam was by far the best night I've had since I left the island a year ago. Great company, danceable enough tunes, and an open bar...perfection. Top it off with 3 proper kisses on the cheek, it was a breezy casual, truly romantic night. Status update: Well, I've booked him for the gig tomorrow and for MJBlige's concert on the 8th so we've been constantly on the phone sorting out this and that. No indication of a follow through, yet. I'm trying not to turn into paranoid schizo again and assume that he's only being nice to me because of the gigs I practically throw on his lap. I've made it clear that he won't get preferential treatment and first digs on a gig just because he is such an adorable little boy who makes me think all sorts of nasty things. ;)

Speaking of boys, I've cut off the Frankfurter, or should I say Berliner. As of three nights ago, the name Faulerhund no longer comes up on my Contacts list. After my girlfriend's short recap of her visit to Berlin, I finally decided that enough wishful thinking is enough. It's not going anywhere, so why bother? Why should I continue waiting for him to grow up and realise that being a Rastafarian does not mean that one needs to be constantly stoned? I'm simply not the same person anymore who thought the way he swayed to the music and slurred his already imperfect English was damn sexy.

I see what and where I want to go now. How can I allow myself to be distracted when there are better, more productive things that I can focus my time, energy and money on? So, what is the root of my sleeplessness? Anxiety over what? Angst towards whom? Could it be because I dream while awake and push my consciousness to the limit by refusing to allow myself be idle or complacent or unproductive? My unconscious now suffers as I block off any and all attempts to relax and be unguarded.

Next month, when I go on holiday, we'll see if I can fix this little problem of mine and finally get a good night's sleep. Crossed fingers.