Dark, dissatisfaction, and denying sleep.

I don't want to turn this computer off - it's the only light in the room. I don't fear the dark; I loathe the stillness that it will inevitably bring to my mind, and that sleep will snuff this small, steady flame of a resolute and wordless thought. Nothing in particular is on my mind, but I am aware of a specific, unidentifiable regret - and I know, through experience, that I will forget the feeling by morning, and fail to recall it throughout the day as I cope with the demands and boredom that my working hours will contain. If I do, in rare, still moments that ambush me during days not wholly filled by routine, become aware of this dissatisfaction that I, in shame, refuse to behold, my attention will flit away as I flee the danger present in that unwelcome thought. Tomorrow night, or another soon after, I will face the same denied desire, the very same struggle to denounce my belief that I stubbornly fail to attain something that I long to be and certainly possess the potential to aspire to. I'm befuddled by this asinine, elusive, persistent goading of my peace of mind by something formless within me; is this an antic I've resorted to in a desperate attempt to cling to familiar unhappiness? I'll roll these dice, god damn it, and in doing so fly free from my own grasp with them.