It’s raging. Inside me. Inside my head.

Between what I want—and what I have.

I’ve been soft for too long. Comfortable. Lazy. The latter, I enjoy so much. Okay, maybe not the laziness... but naps.

Naps are wonderful. I can feel the wave of narcolepsy wash over me. I can feel how I succumb to it. In fact, it’s awareness of my afternoon narcolepsy that has enabled me to overcome insomnia. Something to channel to allow me to fall asleep. Virtually whenever.

Yet, I still don’t get enough sleep.

All of the motivational reading states that following your passion SHOULD make you unable to sleep at night. Driven. Motivated.

Unable. To. Sleep?

After years of battling insomnia? Why would I want that?

Yet, here I am. Still shackled to my... stuff. Unsure I want to walk away. Regardless of the rich life of travel I know I’d enjoy.

Just last night, I was talking to a friend from high school. He has no stuff. He was homeless for four years.

He confirmed: the “no stuff” is liberating, but he didn’t enjoy the homelessness.

I want to be homeless, but of a different sort. I still have resources. I want to wander. See the world. Experience all the beauty the globe... and all those beautiful brown girls... has to offer.

This is the war. Do I want to leave bad enough? To walk away? From all of this?

Whatever this is?

And will I?

Before I piss everyone off?