I stare at the keyboard blankly, my mind betraying me as it has many times before. I shake the wretched screen, the glowing Siren that causes me eternal unrest.

My eyes burn a little, finally catching up after the countless hours of 'productivity' I've spent on my computer this and many other nights.

I fidget in anger at myself, frustrated that I am so unable to free myself of this addictive beast called the internet, called technology, called the modern world.

I struggle with the color settings on my monitor again, seeking to obtain just a little more cool darkness. My fingers slip, momentarily flashing my eyes with scorching bright pain.

I hear the sound of a toilet flushing, then sense the dim glow from a light that has just flickered on in another room.

Distraught by my typical failure at sleep, I succumb to staring at the hypnotizing bright green glow of the on/off button on my monitor. Remembering the mangled words I am typing, I quickly go back and correct my embarrassingly stupid typos.

I argue with my father about my dimly lit screen. He doesn't understand how freeing it is for me, to have my eyes forced onto the keyboard, where they should be, typing words and sentences and paragraphs and stories and beauty.

He tells me I need to go to sleep.

Now sleepless, and full of inspiration, I ignore him.

I listen to the sounds he makes as he gets ready to go to work, even at so early in the morning, as I correct more of my wretchedly awful spelling.

He inquires into what my current activity exactly is. I visibly struggle, then eventually manage, to tell him what I've said before:

That I'm just writing about what's going on around me, as I write about what's going on around me, even though it's mostly just what I'm doing.

That is, struggling with words as usual. And staring at a dim, color-warped screen, wondering why it almost always takes something weird and drastic like this to compel myself to write my thoughts.

My dad heads out the backdoor, finally heading off to work. I promptly turn off the light he left on in another room, which has been plaguing my eyes.

I lean back in my chair, weary from so much writing. Weary from spellchecking and reading this garbage.

I yank my ears in agony, trying to rid myself of the ear worm that has suddenly slithered into my head, grating my sanity, and skewing my ability to think clearly. I decide to take a break from writing to clear my head...

Sitting back down, and staring at my screen, full of everything I've written in these past who knows how many hours, I realize I've ended up back at exactly where I started.

Staring at a keyboard blankly...

Begrudgingly, I finally go crash in my bed.