Today is, maybe the fourth day of cutting down on my Ativan. I’m surprised that I’m actually getting a little bit of sleep at night on that 1/4 pill. Thanks to Jack Reacher and my Kindle, I have entertainment that also helps quiet my mind through the dark hours of sleeplessness.
I’m starting to wonder whether easy-reading books are the proper solution to insomnia. God knows Netflix isn’t, neither is sitting at the computer all night reading the news.
Oh man, I have this book I’m reading on the toilet (doesn’t everyone have a toilet book?) that’s a girly romance novel. Damn, I want so badly to get into romance novels because I hear they’re all the rage, but I have yet to finish one. I might finish the one I’m reading, only because, well, a 365-page toilet book can be finished in 365 shits, theoretically.
About the prompt. When I was a young adult and searching for a place for myself in the world, I decided that my life would go nowhere if I didn’t break out of the emotional rut my childhood had left me in. Some of the chances I’ve taken have almost gotten me killed, some have resulted in personal successes. I’m sure that given enough time I could find many stupid chances I’ve taken that I regretted, but I can’t think of one at the moment (probably because I’m not in the mood to search my life for regrets).
Taking chances is a good thing, if there’s some degree of common sense behind it. I don’t think there’s any other way to break out of generations of family dysfunction without taking a chance on yourself to be something different.
What’s the biggest chance I ever took? To choose life instead of death.
Daily Prompt: Take a Chance on Me