It is presently 11:52PM on May 4. I am, for some unholy reason, strongly considering staying up all night again. I think this might have something to do with sleep deprivation, impaired judgment, common-sense deficiencies, melting polar ice caps, and/or the extinction of giant pandas. Actually, I'm quite certain that there is a direct and irrefutable link to giant pandas in here someplace, although I question the ability of modern science to discern it clearly. It may well take a few generations of soul-searching before we divine the truth at work here. I feel this deep in the core of my being, with a sort of intuitive certainty that is simultaneously borne of and far deeper than faith. I would go so far as to say that I am sensing the beginnings of a connection to one of the deepest gestalts in all of the universe - one so profound and significant that I cannot gaze upon it directly with the deflated eyeballs of my mind, but must rather glance obliquely upon it lest I be destroyed by sudden exposure to such a dense locus of majesty.
Running a sleepless marathon sounds good for other reasons, too. Like the fact that I'm a day behind on work and have sort of lied to myself, and am currently trying hard to pretend that, should I in fact stay up all night, I'll spend some of my time working. But deep down, I know that's all bollocks. The truth is, I rediscovered a couple of webcomics (UserFriendly and General Protection Fault if your sickeningly obsessed, overly inquisitive, borderline voyeuristic mind has to know). I haven't kept up with them, and there's something like a year or two of archived strips to read, which naturally is gonna take a while.
There is a part of my brain, of course, which stubbornly insists on acting like it is sane, despite clear evidence that I am not, in fact, in any way of sound mind. I've tried to beat this little corner of my mind into submission, but to no avail. I have called this slice of my psyche Rodney King by virtue of alcohol, sleep deprivation, fast cars, and beautiful women; but it will not be so named, and instead parries my onslaught and styles itself some kind of Rosa Parks, or - dare I say it - Dr. King hisseff. As the crushing weight of my insanity, the column of so many tanks, seeks to pass through the Tiananmen Square of existence, this lone scrap of brain tissue stands stubbornly in the path, refusing to back down.
This part of my brain insists on asking me what the practical benefits of this all-night romp will be. The answer, of course, is that I'll sack out like a drunkard all day tomorrow, get no work done, party all weekend, panic at the last minute before E3, and generally risk all manner of disaster. The rogue slice of my brain does not like this answer. I tried to bribe it with promises of classical philosophy and triple integrals on the beach at sunset, but, in all its prudery, it would have none of my advances. Whore.
Of course, nature is not without its ever-present sense of balance. To counteract this festering bit of rational responsibility, I've brewed up a witch's grog of lies, cajoling, and threats of exposure to Daikatana. My weapons against sanity are powerful, and I am certain they shall gain victory this day.
In treachery, the Most Vile Foes Who Are Sane have sought the allegiance of the Vast Host of Unconsciousness, who threaten to overwhelm our glorious Legions of Revelry and WebSurfing with the temptuous filth they call Sleep. Since, being such cowardly dogs, our enemy has seen fit to invoke this atrocity, we are forced to respond in the only way we can: with escalation.
Indeed, I speak of the unleashing of Weapons of Mass Stimulation: caffiene, in myriad forms, ingested at disgusting rates, and coupled with the indomitable strength of Loud Music and Junk Food.
We make here our final stand, though fate be aligned against us. Regardless of the outcome of this night, our courage and noble deeds shall echo through eternity, and for our valiant righteous efforts we shall attain our rewards. To arms, my brethren, and stand firm against this wickedness that would lull us into dreams and rest! DEATH TO THE SLEEPY ONE! LONG LIVE THE KING OF STARING BLANKLY AT A MONITOR AT UNHOLY HOURS OF THE NIGHT IN A DAZE WHILST WAITING FOR THE ENERGY DRINKS TO KICK IN!
MAY THE GLORIOUS RIGHT PREVAIL!