Finally snatching a free seat on the train this morning, I had a fleeting thought about Charlie Chaplin. I didn’t know where it came from, I ignored it, picked out my ticket, switched on the iPod, and fell asleep. After reaching Penn Station and groggily walking up the stairs along with the rest of the commuting masses, the significance of the fleeting thought finally hit me. Modern Times (1936) — a Charlie Chaplin film. It was one of the first films I watched for any of my film classes at SBU. History of TV/Film, I believe. HUM 202 — if I remember correctly, I doubt I do. The lesson in this film was silent film… but I do remember our teacher, in his thick Korean accent, tell us that the scene where sheep are coming in and out of subway stations was a very important scene. And now, walking up the stairs, I could see why. In a rush, the rest of the film came flooding back to me.A man, a factory worker, hits his wall. And gets fired. It’s funny as all hell. I’d love to watch that movie again right now if I could. The rest of the movie follows his adventures with a poor young gamin. Paulette Goddard. Beautiful.But I’m missing the point of this entry. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why. Everything is happening like it generally does. The difference is that I’m still happy. I still love coming to work every day. But I can’t get myself started in the morning. And I can’t put myself to sleep at night. I doubt my appetite has been affected, thank god. I’m sure that it looks to everyone else that I’ve put false enthusiasm into the track my life and career have taken thus far… that I did it just for shits and giggles and I thought it would be fun for a while and now I’ve lost interest. But it’s not. Really now, who can get started that quickly on an hour of sleep? Yes, I said an hour. I get about an hour each way on the train. And this morning I went to bed around 3, stuck staring at the clock till well past 4. In the morning. I’m supposed to be up around 5. I kept hitting the snooze button till well after 6. All this felt more natural, more meant to be, when I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t breathe. Even then… I’m not sure how well the Nyquil actually put me out. I generally stayed up for about 2 hours after I took the thing, without falling asleep. I’d stare up at the ceiling, trying to get my body to stop convulsing with the onslaught of coughs. I don’t not want to be here. I love it here.Earlier this morning, before I boarded the train:Is public relations even your idea? I don’t know where you got that idea from. Who ever makes money in this business? Did you listen to _______? You never have your own ideas. You always listen to other people. I don’t know why you listened to _________. You should have listened to us. Look at the way you want to dress. That’s not corporate. They’re the bottom of the heap. You’re not white. How are you going to go anywhere at the bottom of the heap?I thrive here. Or at least, I feel like I will. Just not today. Sleep deprivation is not my friend. It’s my wall. I think I can get over it. Or at least around it. Today, it looks like a Great Wall. And I’m… at the bottom. Of the heap.