I slept like crap again last night, tossing and turning, waking periodically. It sucks, I hate it, but it’s always been this way.

At 11:30 my body informed me it was tired, and that it was time to go to bed. At midnight I had the light out, in bed, ready to sleep. OK! We’re ready to sleep! OK, it’s time to sleep! Here we go! Annnnnnnnnnd… sleep!

Three hours later I’m still staring at the alarm clock that I love so much, its neon blue numbers staring back at me, taunting me.

I’ll try this side of the bed. No, how about this side? Now I’ll lay on my left side. Nah, how about the right side? Back and forth, trying everything, nothing working. Why couldn’t I sleep? I mean, I was TIRED, man. I was ready, too. I wanted to sleep, but it wasn’t happening. Why?

When I turn out the lights it’s like a signal to my brain to go into overdrive.

I spend so much time during the day occupying my brain, preventing thought on that which I should be focusing on. I go to school, pay attention to my lectures, come home and read/study/write… Then I relax with some Cartoon Network or some video games, and I turn out the lights. And then it starts.

How long will you live? Will you work until 62, live a couple years, and then die? How long will your friends live? Wouldn’t it be cool to live well into my 80s like Papa Earl, having a fulfilling life? Or will my lifestyle shave years off my life? How much longer will my parents be alive? They’re not looking so hot for two folks in their early 60s. What will I say at my father’s funeral?

Why the fuck am I thinking about these things when I’m laying in bed, trying to sleep? Why am I thinking these things when I’m only 32 years old, for that matter? Then the present takes over.

NorCal or SoCal, Chico or Long Beach? Railroad in Roseville or Long Beach? Or should I take a chance and try to make it was a writer? Nah, you have no talent, Tom. You can’t write, Tom. You have no formal training—you’re just a hack. Nobody cares about what you have to say anyway. Hey, Chico sure is nice, don’t you want to live here? What about Long Beach, don’t you miss Belmont Shore? Your friends? What if I run into Cindy, or Rosemary on 2nd Street? What will you do?

Why can’t I make up my mind? Why can’t I just settle on a career and do it? Why do I have to make things so difficult? Why can’t I just give up, and go along with everyone else?

By this time it’s 4am. I think I fell asleep for a little bit, but not very long. At any rate, I’m still awake, staring at the clock, now staring at the moon-lit window, and still thinking about shit. Finally, sleep comes and blesses me with her song.

It’s light outside and I’m awake again. What the fuck is that buzzing noise? I look at my watch. 7am. What the FUCK? I sit up in bed. There’s that buzzing noise again. You’ve got to be fucking shitting me. My neighbor is outside with his skilsaw, hacking up pieces of 2×4. Can I catch a break? Please? I have to be up in two hours.

I turn on my air conditioner, full blast. I turn on every computer I own. I turn on every fan I own. There. Hopefully this will drown out Mr. Assfuck’s god damn skilsaw. I hope he cuts off his fingers. Finally, I fall back asleep.

I dream. I’m there again, and I can see their faces—vividly—every one of them. I know every compartment, every door, and every ladder. I can hear the hum of the engines. I can smell that fucking PVC smell they used on the floors. I smell the fuel. I’m running through the hallways, looking for a way out. Lieutenant Risken blocks my way, and I try to barrel through him. Fireman Williams grabs me, makes a joke, and gets in my way. I punch him as hard as I can, knocking him out. I grab his body and throw it overboard, into the icy cobalt sea. Another sailor attacks me with a screwdriver and I’m forced to draw my knife. I inform him to stop, or I will defend myself. His beady eyes narrow and a devious grin spreads wide across his lips. He attacks me. I stab him repeatedly in the neck and face, while trying to hold back his attacks. The other officers are there, watching us. They join in, all attacking me at once. I run.

It’s 9am and the alarm is going off. I’m soaking wet. My heart feels like it is leaping out of my chest. I feel like I’m going to vomit. I sit bolt upright, try to focus. It was just a dream, I say to myself, breathing very heavily.

I’m free. I’m free, it was just a dream.

Nine years after getting out of the Navy I’m still having nightmares. Why won’t these go away? I wish they would just go away…

I couldn’t eat breakfast, my stomach was in knots. I walked to school this morning, creeped out, exhausted, feeling a little depressed.

This feeling stays with me all day. Now it’s late afternoon, and I still feel weary. I feel tired. I feel defeated. I feel sick. I always feel this way after a Navy nightmare. It lasts a couple days, and then it goes away.

It sucks, I hate it, but it’s always been this way.