Hotel Insomnia
by
Charles Simic


I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month
a crippled old man came to play
"My Blue Heaven."

Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat
Catching his fly with a web
Of cigarette smoke and revery.
So dark,
I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.

At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.

Feeling like a tool.

So I feel like a dumbass now that I said I would start writing again and I have not.
What a tool.
That is one of my themes in my life. I have the best intentions of starting 14342242345 things and I get around to doing very few of them. It's not exactly like I'm unproductive as I get shit done, but...I just feel too limited with my time.
This is one of my main complaints/frustrations with life (are u listening non-existent God?) NOT ENUF TIME!!!!!
We have sooo many abilities to do so many things. We just have such limited time to do them. This is insufferable to me. It seems as though man has like...a very limited amount of time to create what he wants to do with his life. I could become a huge "meathead", I could be a sportswriter, I could learn how to really help other people, I could be the OMFG best BF evrrrr LULZZZ!!111!ONEONE!!!! But sometimes I feel so distracted by all of these things that..well...I don't get ANY of them done very well. AHHHHHHHHHH fuck.

I need to find a way to clear my head, and get this straightened out. For fuck's sake.

I'm baaaaaack...

Given the time I spend in front of this idiot box every day I've decided that I'm going to start writing again. Hopefully I'll have something to say by tomorrow. Hopefully. Lulz.