someone told me once that she had been advised that insomnia never killed anyone.   so i sit.  i hear the clock ticking away the minutes of my life...  it might not be killing me but it is usurping seconds, minutes, hours, of my life in which i lay here wondering why i am not someone important.  or doing something important.

why am i not  standing without fear on the Golan Heights screaming that if Syria takes complete control of the controversial land Israel will have no defense as Syria and whoever else wants the Israelis exterminated, bombard them from the hills.

why am i not spending time at the interfaith sanctuary?

why can't i connect with people and make them feel understood or comfort them with basic commonality.  i don't want points... i want a connection.

what am i waiting for?   the need is now,  i am not blind.  what is wrong with me that I cannot become someone who will have made a difference in the world  when i am gone?

why am i not heard and respected when i speak about the damage that hatred and bullying can do to people.  if not me? who?  i have been bullied all my life.  in childhood, in marital situations, in coming out as a lesbian, and by the gay community  itself , which i so desperately wanted to find a place in.

i am either lazy or paralyzed with fear.

i am a glaring example of a full fledged hypocrite.

perhaps that is what i hear in the tick tock of the grandfather clock above my head.  the reminder that each click is one more second that i am doing nothing important for the world around me.