>If At First You Don't Succeed?

>I tried sleeping, but I couldn't.

I laid down at 10:30 and shut my eyes as tightly as I could after watching about 30 minutes of a Ken Burns documentary (one of my new little pleasures), I did the readjust the pillows thing, pulled the blanket snug against my neck, turned to the other side to see if my left cheek was my ticket to the sleep train, got up and checked every deadbolt in the house, closed what doors were open to closets, bathrooms, bedrooms and whatnot, put a dish in the dishwasher, and returned to my bed, thinking maybe this would have settled whatever restlessness was nipping at my skull... but it didn't.
I did some successful staring at the ceiling and tried music and tweeted something about being tired of all of my friends getting married and then attempted to figure out what in the world was on my mind. I then realized that I didn't know what was on my mind.
I tried talking to God about it and although I know He was listening, I felt like the words were bouncing off of the walls and getting back to me with a singsong mockery that caused me to again shift my position in bed from the discomfort. I rotated 180 and put my head in the corner, surrounded by walls, and tried to wedge myself into a comfortable little nook to increase snugness and I tried hugging a pillow and I tried drinking a glass of water and I tried pacing and I tried lighting a candle, but it was burnt down enough that I only succeeded in burning the end of my finger.
So now I'm sitting on my back porch with the slightly chilly Hixson summer air wicking at my skin in my boxers in a little white chair that has a crack in the back of it that doesn't let me recline. I've tried for at least a week to write another blog with some sort of substance, but I can't seem to get past the first couple of sentences. I have under the "edit posts" tab a collection of drafts that started with such promise but ran out of steam far too soon to be considered worthy of public consumption.
I secretly wished I could retreat back to high school with somebody to text me until I fell asleep. I secretly felt the urge to fall asleep with an N64 controller in my hand and the Ocarina of Time still up and running when I woke up, only to find Link walking in circles because of the position I left my thumb in for the past 6 hours. I wanted a heavy downpour to begin and pound upon my window with only the rhythm God could dream up to lull me into a secure cocoon of dry and warm comfort.
I would have even taken some last minute inspiration to scribble into a bedside notebook only to feel the texture of the page underneath the end of my pen which was slowly and calculatedly leaking ink into shapes that represented whatever ideas were swimming beneath my complicated subconscious.
I tried writing some more of this screenplay, but I couldn't.
I tried writing a song but I couldn't.
I tried reading but I couldn't.
I tried sleeping... but I couldn't.

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.