I can't seem to find sleep.

I thought I'd captured it a little earlier in the evening but somehow, between brushing my teeth and finding the perfect lullaby, it eluded me once again.

And after a day filled with mandatory accomplishment I felt it only fitting to write something of my own volition.

I caught myself scouring Craigslist for jobs again today.
It's moderately upsetting that I can't just find contentment in what I'm doing for longer than a brief season or two.
It's as if I'm hardwired to behave as if life's would be definites are little more than lily pads.
I hop from one to the next and the next and so on.
Occasionally, I land on a fresh and undulating floating green to discover that it plays home to a burst of gradient fuchsia petals resting in the soothing cradle of the serenely rippling surface.

I've always loved floating lilies.

But coming back to my metaphor, these lilies seem to wilt and fade causing me to jump to the next pad in hopes of finding a new blossom.

Whether that blossom be a kinder boss, a more appealing living space, or a better relationship, there is still an itch in my lengthy limbs telling me it will only be a matter of time before the vulnerable petals of each of my newly discovered blossoms will eventually suffer the mercilessness of entropy.
And once again I'll bound to the next green berth in hopes of discovering a stronger, more beautiful beauty.

But what of the argument that my presence might just be the cause of my discovered flowers' destruction?
Perhaps my arrival saps from the existing loveliness whatever life force it might have held sans me.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps I might offer an opportunity to play the botanical gardener, providing love and attention to the stillness of organic blooms.

Life is funny like that: so full of mutable things that seem to fall away from focus and/or importance.
And funnier still is that fact that so many of us just accept that the failure of said aspects to persevere and live on with us is a natural thing.

Could it not be said that our investment in those natural elements might sustain them?
And the practice of providing care to those things that are outside of us, could it not be that which best sustains ourselves?

I wonder if this metaphor has grown murky or perhaps stagnant.

Even so, I tire of leaping.
I'd rather rest in the open arms of my budding life.