S'no fair. I was damn tired tonight too, after four hours of massaging... I even tucked into my nice velvety purple bed with a soothy cuppa chamomile and a fabulous new book.

By rights I should be happily snoozing my head off dreaming of large women(random, inappropriate movie ref: anyone remember?) right now.

But no, instead, I'm a mess of sweaty, hot, sticky thoughts and I'm throwing off the covers and I'm singing my siren song and I'm eyeing the shiney, seductively rounded knobs of my hard, wooden bedposts with a distinctly feral feline gleam.

The left angle of my temporo-mandibular joint is wired so tense tonight, like an egg boiled too fast, it may split, rending multiple zigzagging pencil-tip thin cracks all over my cranium.

Perhaps then I will forget how horny I am and stop melting holes in my nice comfy mattress.

Perhaps then, as my brains leak out slowly and majestically I will gently succumb to sleep at last.

Perhaps...

But I think not.

It is far more likely that I will chew the inside of my left cheek ragged and think many, many thoughts that would be better left unthought and sit dripping at my computer in my dark bedroom, hair hanging down over my pale, knobbly knees, drawn up to my chin and tap, tap, tap on my keyboard 'til it howls my howls and moans my moans...

Yeah, that's about the size of it.

P'raps it's the new moon, maybe I'm ovulating and the she-wolf between my legs wants to run out under that dark moon and race the glittering, black streets in search of a mate worth breeding...

Some shaggy, powerful beast, strong enough to overtake her sleek headlong flight and fierce enough to slake her thirst for domination-matching her thrust for thrust and growl for growl in the dark, cold grass by the side of the road that soft, unsuspecting city-dwellers will stroll along the next day, sipping their lattes and chattering like monkeys on their cell phones.

Spent, she returns to me, coils like a hot water bottle against the small of my back and warms my dreams with her puppy-like whimpers of satisfaction.

Dreams which sometimes spread themselves out at my fingertips as though I could string them together into a coherent tapestry of understanding. Thus could I capture, and hold up before me the timewoven story of my life.

Grasping the essential truths of being human and opening wide all the hitherto denied possibilities of my self.

Dreams flee from the rational waking mind. They cannot be approached head on... Rather one must look at them askew, with gentle-focus, sleep-muddled eyes, inviting, not demanding their unfolding guidance.

Dreams are absurd, but are seldom as stupid and blind as reality can be.

Have I said enough?

Too much?

Probably. Or not nearly enough. But even if I talked myself hoarse and unpeeled right here and right now to the very core of my being, I would still be asking:

Can I sleep now, God?