Where are you going?

I've been tired the last few days. Hanging out on Friday after a long week; a late night Saturday night, which ended in getting home near midnight with no writing done; waking up after only a few hours of sleep for some writing before church, and then going out to eat. I settled down to take a nap, and the roommates started yelling jokes from one end of the house to the other - no nap.
My thoughts have been ranging all over. I won a competitive game, recently, that took me almost two months to top the charts in; a friend's mother is dying, and has been dying for almost a year, though this will likely be her last week; sick family members; missing people split up over the world; reading poetry, and digesting the intricate imagery; scouring classical pieces for useful tidbits, and contemplating on creation, life, knowledge, sin; friends hurting, living, loving. 
On top of it all, I'm writing hours each day, keeping up with the strict pace I've set for myself for this novel, trying to bring the mystery to life with all its characterization. I even sat for hours in a coffee shop, analyzing each person who walked in, imagining their days - what a bizarre, daydream exercise.  I listened to thoughtful bands: Sufjan, Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, trying to fabricate feelings as I enter into different settings, and help myself envision the spacial, temporal, emotional constraints of so many variables.
I'm over-thinking this.

I wanted to write a thousand different things in my journal and blog-blather today, and I'm finding I'm getting none of those done. I wrote two-thousand words and then halted, turned off the lights, lit a candle, put on my slippers, and played guitar. I deliberated over how much I wanted to get done: learning how to write poetry; studying lyric, rhythm, rhyme, meter; understanding more on the nature of mystery and tension; studying character development and setting construction; learning, again, about some of my favorite time periods: victorian, renaissance, feudal, Edo Japan, mandate-of-heaven China, early yerushalayim, aztecs, incas, and the mayans, the mesopotamian fertile crescent: the cradle of man.  I yearned for a study of trees, plants, flowers, and where they naturally grow and flourish. I wanted to follow the patterns of birds, which trees they prefer, and how they build their nests, and when/if they migrate. I wanted to know where the animals go and when they come, and how they find their food, and where they all live.
I wanted to know everything: geology, geography, history, biology, chemistry, physics, mystery, mythology, fantasy, science-fiction, classics, languages, people - people, oh so much! 

But instead, I'm sitting and playing guitar, plucking at chords and singing lightly into the darkening skies of night.  My mind is craving for more, and my heart is telling me to collect some weekend rest, while I may. I miss A, and our roommate adventures, our talks into the night, the last word: chandelier, before we slept. I'm ready to jump, I'm ready to fly. Fire an arrow, Jonathan. Is it beyond me?
Where am I going? Where do I go.

Are you looking for answers
To questions under the stars?
Well, if along the way
You are grown weary
You can rest with me until
A brighter day and you're okay
~ Dave Matthews

This song is my night. I wanted to know everything, and I'm only given more questions, and the light song of fingertips across strings. Does everyone have such nights? Nights when all the colors mix together to grey.


I'm a fledgling, a monarch with morning-cold wings. Breathe on me, and I will fly.