In the passenger's seat
While the world it was flying by
I haven't been gone very long
But it feels like a lifetime.

Bright Eyes, "We Are Nowhere, And It's Now"
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This is not the insomniac me. This is the me that actually fights sleep, that attempts to extend the day, not so that I can fill it with productivity or work or thought or contemplation. But rather, this is me trying to resist the night for no good reason other than habit. I wage this battle against my circadian rhythms with the idea that, in the stillness of the house, the lone buzz from my lamp, and the glow from my screen, I can discover something deep and extraordinary.

Usually, though, I just end up reminiscing about the previous day, about cool things I should have said and done, about chances that walked away from me. The silent pause before I descend into sleep is filled with regret over the smallest detail. And it's here that I give life to that sorrow, however small, so that I can feel that the full range of experience is complete. The street lamp shines, another day is over. Another night is yawning.