Sleep. Sleep is what I want. Sleep is what I won’t get. Gotta work through the rest of the day. Not long left, but I want sleep. I crave sleep. I desire sleep. Sleep is what I desire, and perhaps because of that, I am… on fire?

So anyway, lack of sleep. Windy outside. Wind is great, should’ve done my washing earlier. Oh well. There’s always another day. It was meant to be raining right now, too. It’s not.

Today is a day of slow thoughts. Need to take advantage of that, I think. Need to do a few things and definitely need to take advantage of that. Try and speed up. Try and work up a sweat whilst thinking. Try and get some things done that normally I would not do. Try a few things, too. Who knows. I know I’ll try something.

I will try and go fast and I will race the wind. I will type so fast that my legs will spring into action and I’ll just charge on to wherever. I’m really tired and this is a bad idea, but somehow it will happen. Somehow it will happen and everything will be fine. There will be no issues whatsoever. I know this to be true because it is true. Totally, utterly true. Nothing wrong at all, and definitely nothing that relies heavily on the imagination. At all. Ever. EVER.

So I’m gonna go fast. I will ride the breeze and I will let it carry me to somewhere, and then I will start outpacing it. I will outrun it and I will run so fast that the sound barrier will not have enough time to know that it has been broken. There will be no sound of the sound barrier being broken. There just won’t. Somehow.

In saying all of this, I will probably look for somewhere comfy to sit, so I need to make sure I keep my thoughts slow. Or rather, they need to be quick, but I need to relax. They can seem slow, or something.

What am I even saying? This makes little sense. I need to sit down. I need to stand up and then sit down again because I can’t believe how silly this all is. It’s terrible.

There are people who died and created masterful works; works that will likely never be read by anyone until they are discovered many, MANY years after their passing. I am filling the world with this pointless drivel. There’s nothing here. There’s no substance and I’m still working on it. I need to stop. I need to do something else for the day. I need to do my job. I need to do that and get on with it, and I am still writing this.

I know I can stop, but I need to go faster than the wind before I do, but that’s gonna take a while. That’ll require a lot of training or something and even then, there’s no guarantee.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:51:86

The lack of sleep was really getting to me at the point I wrote this, though I wasn’t feeling as tired as I am. I think it comes through quite strongly, however. The random flight of fancy followed by the crash; it’s where I see it.

Written at home.