Awake at two thirty : racing thoughts and elusive butterflys

I woke up at two thirty this morning.  It wasn't like my sleep was disturbed because there was silence.  Or anything to do with a bad dream, neither did I feel uncomfortable.  I just woke up.  Fully woke up.  It had only been three hours since I went to bed, by all sense and logic I should of been crying out to sleep.  This wasn't the case.  I felt awake and alert.  Yet knowing I should be asleep kept me in bed.  For a while I tossed and turned.  Hoping my mind would not continue to race along.  Somehow just by laying there I thought sleep would catch me again, like a butterfly in a net.  Except this fluttering need was quite out of reach for my net.  I jumped up but it was way too high to be retrieved again.  So I got up out of bed and made a cup of tea.  Threw the cat out and decided he'd have to fend for himself for a few hours and accept the chill, it would be his own fault.  He should learn to tell the time.  Going to the kitchen to make tea helped, but I didn't have my radio with me, so it wasn't like I could relax in a chair and listen to some talk show for a moment.  I drank up and returned to bed.  Again I lay there for a few moments and decided it was best to try a little reading.  I picked up a book and read about the origins of the phrase Pyrrhic Victory.  It was interesting.  My eyes tired just a little bit.  Not a lot, so I again laid down and tried.  It was still no use.  I lay there and let my mind do it's crazy chasing thoughts.  I was thinking of the earlier day at the Fish Factory.  Too much stuff going on.  Big Momma and her crazy ways.  For a sane person in a crazy world life can be difficult, enough to make talk to the birds in the hope they will actually listen.  A reality is, crazy people are difficult.

I head off to the Fish Factory now.  It will be an early start, a lot earlier than normal.  With a little luck it may give me time and space to do things before other fishes turn up.  I try my best to take note from a Latin phrase Festina Lente, briefly translated it means make haste slowly.  Mind it's not so much the haste I need, more of the sleep.