They are the Grey-Azure of the Sky on the First Rays of Dawn

I sit here in the gloom of my room at 11:43 pm on Tuesday May 8th and my fingers itch to write something meaningful, but nothing comes. Instead, I listen to "Somebody That You Used To Know" for the umpteenth time today. Certain phrases in that song swirl throughout my head.
Is that what it feels like? What I did months back?
I actually identify much more with Kimbra's part: "Now and then I think about all the times that you screwed me over. But had me believing  it was always something that I'd done. I don't wanna live that way. Reading into every word you say".
Still feels cold though.
Outside, the rain rushes down the drainpipe into the building's central courtyard. A rainy spring night in Brooklyn. The humidity has been clinging to the air since this morning. I should have taken an umbrella to work, but I figured it would be okay. It was. The walk from the office to the Fulton station on the G is relatively short. Sometimes too short.
The minutes tick away. Perhaps I am looking at another night of insomnia. The kind that tricks me into believing that I'm tired and then has me counting the humidity bubbles on my ceiling for hours. The kind that doesn't let me actually be productive when I climb down from my loft bed to try to tire my mind. Instead of say, letting me log footage or write business plans, it eggs me on to watch another episode of Sherlock. Because Sherlock is always a better choice than logging.
The question lingers: Am I happy?
Well, I'm not sad.
That's for sure.
I am ... restless. A taxing restlessness that comes from my impatience. From the frustration of knowing what I want and being too ridiculously scared to actually go out and do something about it. My shrink tells me that I over think things. She is, naturally, correct. I tend to forget that life is not a story with an arc, with rhyme and reason. That it is not necessarily logical. Or if it is, some of the logic behind emotions is far too complex to understand. Too complex, and unnecessary to understand. It is better to just let them run through you, to live them. But if you do that, you end up like me. Writing on my blog at midnight about everything and nothing in particular.
Crushes are such strange things. The feelings, the emotions, feel almost alien. A forgotten feeling that I last felt six years ago. The smile that won't leave my lips. The gaze I can't truly meet. The small whiffs of a sweet earthy but clean musk that drives me insane with desire. The feeling that every phrase I utter is the stupidest thing I've ever said in my life, even though they are perfectly natural and normal things to say. The itching to do something brash, and dramatic and at the same time, hoping that it will go unnoticed as long as possible. The way it takes a single word - "Hello!" - to take me from cool and zen to smiley idiot. The way I feel 13 when I'm actually 23.
What does one do with all this? Certainly not what I did in High School (that always ended so badly - I would not like a repeat of that). As an adult, what does one do with a crush?
 Not sleep apparently.
And write a blog post about it.
Both less than stellar ideas.
Why does it have to fuck with your brain?
Those eyes haunt my daydreams.

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