I didn’t get to sleep Friday night until the sun was coming up Saturday morning around 6:30 a.m.
I’m not quite sure what I was doing all night, but this has become a pattern for me lately. I spent some of the time reading. I watched a movie. And I spent quite awhile at this little gazebo about half a mile from my house. It’s at the center of the little downtown area of the suburb where I live. While the rest of the city is asleep, it’s a good place for me to write.
I’m back there again Saturday night, but it’s hard to be sure why I’m here. I feel the need to write, but I also feel a creeping frustration that doesn’t have a name. Part of me wants to hide and be alone, and another part of me wants to desperately reach out to someone. I feel so conflicted — like someone who is screaming like a mad man on the inside but looks perfectly calm on the outside.
I feel as though I’ve lost control over my life — and these late-night times of solitude seem to be the only times when things make any sense.

Years later, I see that I was an outsider who could never fit in
500 years after Luther’s 95 theses, there’s still not much to celebrate
When Demopublicans and Republicrats clash, you lose
For first time in my life, I fear not finding love and life I’ve needed
We can’t really change people, even if they offer us the control
Maybe looming defense cuts mean U.S. has to quit invading countries
Apologize while you still can, because you’ll live with regret