Cursed to Walk the Earth Like Cain
I have not been sleeping. I’ve started full-time at Small Publication, and my hours now start at 6:00 a.m. So I’ve been trying to go to bed at 10:00 or 10:30 in order to get up at 5:00, but even though I am definitely truly tired by that hour one week into this work-schedule, my brain, she won’t listen. And will not let me fall asleep.
Last night, I started off in bed at 10:30. Found myself still awake at midnight, so I joined Hunter in the living room to read. He loaned me some Borges: a wonderfully dreamy short-story about the universe really being a hexagonal library with an uncountable (though not infinite) number of floors. I got drowsy two-thirds of the way through the story and went to bed with Hunter. Felt myself drifting… almost… but no. Returned to the couch with an afghan around 1:45 or so before finally retreating once again to the bedroom sometime later, avoiding all eye-contact with time-keeping devices. Also, I admit, grumbling nastily.
When you can’t sleep, everyone else is smug in their slumber and deserves the full brunt of your ire. And everyone else is surely experiencing the most peaceful sleep ever. All shall awaken refreshed and in tune with nature, but not you. You will Never sleep, Never rest, Never have peace.
Instead, your days shall consist of a dull stupor in which your brain will only travel just so far with a thought before it becomes utterly baffling. Thus, much takes on an air of the profound.
Your nights you will spend accompanied by the sudden vivacious chatter of your brain, which suddenly wants nothing but to regale you with loops of pop songs as well as little reminders of things you have to do tomorrow, things you screwed up at today, news that your pillowcase is made from the scratchiest material known to man and that it must be a hundred degrees in this bedroom and that the kitchen sink is dripping in just such a pattern. Look at your significant other sleeping. Remember when it charmed you to watch him sleep? The rat; he’s clearly mocking you. And: You have to get up in four hours, three hours, three and a half.
Last night I got two hours of sleep. I have not napped today either, in hope of falling into bed in utter exhaustion in a couple hours or so. But I seem to be catching my second wind, now. Yepperdoodle.
I have not been sleeping. I’ve started full-time at Small Publication, and my hours now start at 6:00 a.m. So I’ve been trying to go to bed at 10:00 or 10:30 in order to get up at 5:00, but even though I am definitely truly tired by that hour one week into this work-schedule, my brain, she won’t listen. And will not let me fall asleep.
Last night, I started off in bed at 10:30. Found myself still awake at midnight, so I joined Hunter in the living room to read. He loaned me some Borges: a wonderfully dreamy short-story about the universe really being a hexagonal library with an uncountable (though not infinite) number of floors. I got drowsy two-thirds of the way through the story and went to bed with Hunter. Felt myself drifting… almost… but no. Returned to the couch with an afghan around 1:45 or so before finally retreating once again to the bedroom sometime later, avoiding all eye-contact with time-keeping devices. Also, I admit, grumbling nastily.
When you can’t sleep, everyone else is smug in their slumber and deserves the full brunt of your ire. And everyone else is surely experiencing the most peaceful sleep ever. All shall awaken refreshed and in tune with nature, but not you. You will Never sleep, Never rest, Never have peace.
Instead, your days shall consist of a dull stupor in which your brain will only travel just so far with a thought before it becomes utterly baffling. Thus, much takes on an air of the profound.
Your nights you will spend accompanied by the sudden vivacious chatter of your brain, which suddenly wants nothing but to regale you with loops of pop songs as well as little reminders of things you have to do tomorrow, things you screwed up at today, news that your pillowcase is made from the scratchiest material known to man and that it must be a hundred degrees in this bedroom and that the kitchen sink is dripping in just such a pattern. Look at your significant other sleeping. Remember when it charmed you to watch him sleep? The rat; he’s clearly mocking you. And: You have to get up in four hours, three hours, three and a half.
Last night I got two hours of sleep. I have not napped today either, in hope of falling into bed in utter exhaustion in a couple hours or so. But I seem to be catching my second wind, now. Yepperdoodle.
posted by Alice at 5:50 PM
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