I’ve had shit for sleep this week.
Hours spent in that ethereal place between here and there; awake but drifting, exhausted but unable to throw off my moorings. I’m not sure what ties me down, whether it’s the fact that I can’t sleep or the fact that I’m so damn pissed because I can’t sleep. It figures that one builds on the other; these partners in some plot to destroy me, my over-active amygdala and hippocampus sit up there, partying into the wee hours like so many asshole neighbors.
Equal parts genetics and all of my poor life choices
and Mortimer and Randolph Duke rolled up into a little ball of stress; this anxiety nugget contains the dead weight of a thousand looming deadlines and societal expectations. Myriad awkward memories filled with doubt and regret, all covered in a thick oily blanket of self-disgust.
The insomnia curls itself around me, keeping me warm while it whispers. It’ll never forget my unconscious desire for a life uncontrollably interesting and obnoxiously complicated.
Perhaps I just need to get out of the bed. Shake it off, refocus and maybe visit the fridge again. Anything new in there? I squint…
Nope. Same fridge.
I look out the kitchen window and all the neighbors – even the night-owls – have all gone to sleep or dwell quietly in the dark as I do. Maybe they’re looking out of their windows right back at me…
Maybe I’m not alone?
I need to find a constructive way to spend this time. John Travolta nailed it in Phenomenon. He used all of that otherwise wasted time constructively. I should buy some books. Learn a new language. I could practice some of those breathing techniques Lizz tells me about. Maybe I just need to let go of all the anger and frustration. Embrace it. That, and my ever-expanding inability to complete simple sentences due to my lack of a proper night’s rest.
I’ll work on that. Along with everything else, I suppose. What else have I to do but ride the ride? And, hell…think of all the time saved but not sleeping!
Here’s to productivity.