Because there's Nothing Else

I haven't dreamt in a while, which is disconcerting. I'm starting to feel that familiar sense of complacency and comfort set in; it's like a sense of becoming rooted or stagnant. I hate it. It doesn't let me think, it discourages me from action, and it limits my creativity.  I've almost resorted to eating my mattress out of sheer boredom. During these moments, it feels like I'm not breathing air, but instead just immersed in some kind of viscous preservative. There's a visual: pickled Alex. You think they'd sell it at the grocery store if it existed? I know I'd buy some, though it would be pretty eerie. I'd probably just end up setting him free in the wild, or giving him to one of the neighborhood kids. I need something to shock me, or surprise me, or just put me back in touch with that sense of refreshing madness. I need a good old fashioned nightmare. Maybe I'll just turn everything in my room upside-down, that usually helps. Or maybe I'll argue with the drawings on my wall. That usually puts me in the mood for poetry, which is always a good remedy for this type o' thing. This helps too, writing to nobody in specific; just emotion and thought without the intention of it being read or seen by anyone. Cleansing.