Wide awake and rambling

Can't sleep.  Overwhelmed.  Not writing much lately for the same reason.

The gist of my day was wandering aimlessly looking for a sports-related happening, that I didn't find, though I did end up eating tacos in a place whose smell took me back to Central America or maybe my grandmother's house; stumbling into a random hidden bar where I drank tequila with chocolate bitters and Amara, and told the bartender about the clown thing (and consequently fell off of my last wagon, really, though I'm not drinking coffee anymore); and then while finally waiting to catch a bus, having a homeless woman tell me to hug her and look her in the eye (both of which I did) before handing her a pitiful amount of loose change because my bus had just pulled up, and I was suddenly cold, and needing to go home.

The day itself was fine.  And yet all of my life feels like it's up in the air, which can be good, but at the moment, it's stressful.  Feel the need, the desire, to nail something down, though as soon as I do, something else crops up.  I spend my time putting out fires, and never moving forward.  Distractions.  Things I need to take care of, and things being pulled away from me when I'm not looking that I feel the need to defend, that I wasn't ready to let go of.  That I wasn't asked first.  That people made choices for me, without my knowing about it.  Disrespect?  I do exist.  Tired of having to have my guard up all the time.  Would like to trust.  Would really like to be able to trust, instead of feeling like I was just played.

Detachment.

And maybe it's all just the middle of the night talking, because I can't do anything about it right now.

Finished another Chekhov play (Wild Honey, translated/edited for story by Michael Frayn) in this state of insomnia.  Wrote, too.  Perhaps I should just keep writing, have yet to find a thread I want to follow.

And then there's the clown thing.

And it's just about 3 am.