I wish I could leave on a jet plane

Is jet plane one or two words, anyways? I am so tired, and have been searching the net so much my eyes would cross if they could. But they can't. I have tried at length to get my eyes to cross. Slowly bringing my finger to my face, keeping my eyes focused on it. Every trick in the book. They say your eyes might get stuck that way anyways, so maybe it's better I don't know how. What happens to be people's eyes when they die? Do the eyes dry out as the body decays? I am definitely donating all my organs, corneas included. I do not want to be some mummified, old figure rotting away six feet under. Especially since organ donation can save people's lives. Or many people's lives.

I hate it. What? Growing up. I hate having to face the consequences in life. Getting and holding down jobs. Filing taxes. Dealing with the grey area and feeling totally alone. That bridge between too close and too far. But it's not going anywhere. It's just raising ahead of me, taunting me to take another step "down this road that we call life" (Yes, I just quoted 'Boy meets World'). I could be a lunatic. It would certainly be fun to be a lunatic. Stark mad, running naked down Sixth Avenue or shouting every possible curse word into this metropolitan air. But I think we all have the ability, gene, whatever you call it, to be a lunatic, but we're too scared to let our inner freak flag fly. Do the things we only fantasize about doing, in dreams, daydreams, journal entries. Oh, I started keeping a journal again. I haven't kept one in several years, since a certain traumatic incident made me stop my manual blogging.

I have two journals, one red leather, one satin, with a Chinese Dragon on the front. My handwriting is so small, I crammed a short story on every damn page. I am not doing this journal writing thing for some sort of lame self-preservation. But I do think it's sort of therapeutic to get the things bothering me (and believe me, at the moment there are a lot), out on paper.

I don't have work tomorrow, but with this insane cold/flu thing I can't seem to shake, I just want to go to sleep and curl up. Because, despite what messed up, screwed up, inane things go down, you always have tomorrow. Clean and fresh, with no mistakes in sight. Time heals things, draws invisible threads to patch over mistakes, missteps and mishaps. I think that is all for tonight.