A Disaster is Always Better Than Playing with a Sure Thing

          The late shift normally agrees with me. I can settle away in my head as music plays, letting myself drift through the wee hours. The tiny projects I want to complete are worked on, unlike what tends to happen the rest of the time. A doodle here, some writing there, a book to cozy up with; little things conspiring together to keep time flowing, to keep me engaged. Problem is that at times my head drifts too far away, it goes wandering down dark little paths crisscrossed with tangled webs. Dark little paths that beckon, that holler, that demand attention I wish I better resisted giving to them, allowing them to have.
          That first sparked reaction is troublesome, is my downfall. What may have been a regular night filled with nothing terrible, nothing disorientating can suddenly become rocked, shaken vigorously. Frustrating chain reactions that burst, that explode, that keep pulling me back under waves I cannot see anymore. A set of reactions I should expect ahead of time, should be able to prepare for before the inevitable happens, but I cannot. The thought patterns differ, they evolve from time to time, and they are not always recognizable as something that will make me want to crawl out of my skin.
          Instead I am hit full force with that need, that desire to depart, to flee, to engage in the flight reaction. Responses that I cannot cater to, cannot give into as badly as I wish to, so other actions are taken to counteract whatever it is that plagues me, that wants to drown me. Pacing in the lobby, a short loop that does nothing to deter the thoughts at the edge of my mind dancing in the shadows where they can play peek-a-boo. A book left open to bed read through in spurts, between the times where I grasp at images that turn, that twirl, that spiral out of control. Music in the background, soft and quiet, lyrics that attempt to keep me grounded for the most part. Some songs pull me, drag me towards memories that crush, towards thoughts I am not fond of entertaining. Words written in a manic rush, in a slow meticulous fashion, in ups and downs to try to halt things.
          Madness, a mess, a mistake...