Creative insomnia...

Restless mind seeks to wander the halls rather than settle down for the night. Re-examining, analyzing, theorizing, hypothesizing; in perpetual motion in a conscience state. Just a fancy way of saying I'm an insomniac. Even when I was little I had trouble sleeping, thinking I'd somehow miss something cool. I stare at the ceiling and all its uninteresting feature and try to imagine several peaceful scenarios to sponsor my trip back to dream land. A placid beach of jet black sand and foamy turquoise ocean waves framing a dense jungle behind me, full of mystery and sound. The silence of a desert at night, the towering dunes of diamond dust illuminated by the pale moonlight; the indigo sky bejeweled with a million stars. I trace a passing comet with my fingers. I also try to picture myself as a nomadic shepherd, except I guide a flock of clouds, not sheep; their airy forms transforming into shapes of all kinds which graze the wide blue expanse. My guiding staff being the wind itself...
See, all these ideas that I try to focus on to lull me off to sleep only encourage me to finish their stories, complete the epics I come up with. Instead of resting and sleeping I'm up writing and creating. Perhaps I believe in inception and have yet to admit it outright.