Dearest Journal,
I cannot sleep. Thoughts race through my head, as quickly as my pulse beats through my veins. Or mayhap 'tis the sugar of the peach tea 'n whiskey. Or mayhap a combination o' the day's events, the winnings, the losses, the conversations of old friends and new. Mayhap it's that small creature weaving a web in the corner of the room far too high for me to reach...oh how it stares at me!
I can't get comfortable. 'tis too hot, so I throw off the covers. Then 'tis too cold, so I pull them back on. Shite.
Where'd I put that tincture? One drop upon the tongue and a few deep breaths, close my eyes, think pleasant thoughts and pray...Nay, still nothing?
Pray harder: Sweet sleep, take me anon into thy embrace!
...
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