Sketch Fourteen

I have no clue what I exactly want to write. I think about doing character sketches, but find myself too tired to attempt thinking about these real people. The old lady wore me out. There is so much more about her, that I will probably add to the entry as time goes by. I keep thinking about the story I want to finish, but it requires time alone at night with me being able to sleep to noon the next day. Not going to happen. I guess a sketch about nothing is just as acceptable. My eyes keep wanting to close, and I won't let them. I feel the lethargy settling into my throat, where my chin is digging into my neck. Am I a crane that can tuck my head under my wing? Is that the bird? I nearly fell asleep standing up while riding the elevator up to the third floor. It doesn't take that long for the elevator to move, but it felt like an eternity. Ha ha, a sketch on sleep deprivation. No better sketch than that. Try it for a week. Still, I don't have a clue what a soldier goes through in the war zone. I don't think I want to. This war zone is enough for me, being deprived of sleep due to a son in ICU with tumors, all filled with cancer. My battle zone isn't about saving my life and a buddies, it is only about saving my son's. At least the buddy is there to watch over you as you watch over them. Okay, I went off topic a bit, but I think my point has been made, if there was a point in all this. Was this even a sketch, or was it a journal entry? I think it was a journal entry. My phone is beeping me: "I'm charged, unplug me!"