2 a.m. pathetique

"What is it inside me that makes me so crazy at 2 a.m.? I can't blame it on alcohol in my blood when there isn't any. It's something worse. Something that poisons the blood and tips me when the night swells and I feel as if the whole sky were leaning against my brain." ("Never Marry a Mexican" Woman Hollering Creek and other stories, Sandra Cisneros)

I cried a little before going to sleep. I couldn't sleep (and that's nothing new), but my day was perfect: I read; I cooked; I played with and took care of a dog; I sat outside and read some more; I watched cartoons; I cleaned while dancing poorly to some extremely loud music. What more could I want?

Yet again, I could not stop thinking and I went to sleep feeling like a ghost. Anyone who has ever "loved" me has left, and no one has ever cracked this nopal open. I go to sleep unloved and unknown. I fell asleep feeling as if I am fated to never be understood and knowing that not one other person on this planet falls asleep to the thought of me.

There's pure lunacy inside me and it creeps out of my breath to cradle me. That's what finally puts me to sleep, feeling embraced by my own lunacy. Do I feel crazy because I realize this or because I say this to the "NO ONE WHO GIVES NOT ONE SHIT" not reading this right now?

Real women don't feel like this at 2 a.m.