Loosing sleep

It is not a rare occasion that I awake after 3-4 hours of sleep feeling as if I am in the midst of a stimulating conversation: no fog obstructs my thoughts and they flow like it is 11 in the morning and I have been out of bed for 4 hours. last night, the neurons from my lateral home of language carried with immense action potential electricity across synapses, down my arm, through myelin sheaths, into my finger tips, which scribbled a pen across my journal:
Over stimulation. Boxed, divided.
Separate & a lot.
That's what the world give you.
God, I could sit and do one thing for hours on end and loose myself there.
Absorbed.
The world, I tell myself, I can't.
That I don't want to. It's no good.
Why is that? Who wins?
I forgot I used to let myself do this, have a blast organizing a drawer in my 11-year-old self's bedroom. for a whole afternoon.
The world is distracting.
"You should be wanting more"...what's next? ooooh, what's better?
Nothing, damn it!
Nothing is better than me being here without realizing it and truly being here. Time erased.
Over stimulation.
What a curse.
Let it be...