5am Can't Sleep Diaries

I had written half a post earlier about wanting to be in a John Allison comic, in his strange world of curious kids, cartoonish adults, adorable monsters and mythical creatures (all of whom love their tea) that I've loved for 6 years. Or live in a Frank Gehry Dancing House type of building with imaginary boyfriend no. 245 (he's grumpy, scruffy, drunk AND owns a book shop? WIN) Bernard Black  (or Dylan Moran who are one and the same person. Currently residing in doodle form, on my notice board under His Holiness Henry Rollins)

but that's just bullshit that I occupy my numerous free hours with, it's just me talking to my self about things that I like. And I'm not going to subject you to the drivel I write purely for myself.
Here's what came out of me when I was trying to sleep right now.
I just had a conversation online with my best bro Pink Moon and we were talking about how being a feminist is about "escaping conditioning" and about having the choice to decide who and what you are - man, woman, neither or your own thing and here I am at (going on) 5 am unable to sleep and lying thinking of different ways to use my new scarf or wear my new clothes (bought from BP market, Noida reprezent) and when I'll finally have the occasion/lady testicles to wear the purple MAC lipstick I found in the debris of a party this winter (makeup hobo punx FTW) and that's ok.
Last night after some strange events and a lazy-ish night with my friends I lay on a swing (I love sleeping in small spaces, plus you can rock the swing with your hips even while you're lying down) in my friend's room at 5am (there is a pattern here...) listening to Aqueous Transmission 8 times in a row and imagining Brandon and I floating down our own separate rivers, watching the moon, the starts, fireflies and foliage above us, singing this song with the knowledge that the other was out there.
Still wasn't able to sleep, but it was a nice fantasy anyway.
I had written in the discarded half draft that

My daydreams have gotten stale. So now I hold on to my sleep with my sheet pulled over my face, I turn sides and fall into another dream, nowadays I see similar things. I see new and familiar people who change into each other, I feel like I have some unfinished work in college, I see books, I see the "patron saint of judgmental statues" (only one of you will get what I mean)

Last night I dreamt on borrowed imagery, vividly, of being in the Gangs of Wasseypur (this was Deba's idea, he was claiming to belong to such a background while brandishing a Naga spear, little flipped out South Delhi fantasy-fic freak that he is). The Patron Saint of Judgmental Statues had been exorcised from my dreams, ironically enough. It's been 15 days. I have done nothing 'productive' but I might be at some sort of peace momentary peace with that? Going to look up some things to learn and then Ladakh is not too far away. Cannot wait for the long journey, not being absorbed in myself, for the skull shattering bickering like hens that the boys do, the getting there, the mountains, the lake, the high altitude headaches and bursting lungs, the realization that you're a useless fucking city dweller but you're here and you're happy and insignificant in the best way possible, in front of more mountains and sky than you can process.
I should stop building things up in my head.