5.41am / An investigation into sleepless nights

‘Please God hide me from ideas,’ I murmur, pulling the covers over my unease. I squint my closed eyes as if the darkness will comfort me more that way, but it does not. It does however lay emphasis on this forced and superficial attempt at sleep. My mind spews spirals of information and ideas causing it to whirl in a whole new brand of nausea.

 

In desperation I try affirmations of how exhausted I feel. It’s no use.

 

I am painfully aware of my body shaking in an unknown cold and in trying to settle my mind I eventually force my eyes to open again, force my limbs to move again, and force my thoughts to order again. There is a small comfort in returning to the horrific bedside lamp and notepad. I think perhaps I enjoy feeding upon fear of the inevitable - Validating this nightmarish cycle I seem to draw in my pre-sleep disorientation.

 

I scrawl faster and faster in an attempt to get everything down. In moments I can almost literally feel the words fading away from me, and I wonder how close I was to sleep that this experience should be so close to retelling a dream.

 

As the muse stops taunting me and disappears I retreat back to the covers. I don’t remember how many times I’ve done this tonight. Maybe five. Maybe less. I hear the word ‘Insomniac’ tossed around a lot these days, but that’s not me. I cling to that at least. Once I get to that reverred sleep I will be there for half a day before returning here – to life – and there are no alarms to stop me anymore.

 

My head touches the pillow, and my eyes close subconsciously for once.

 

(... and repeat)

 

I awake in the late afternoon. All ideas have left me, as if God’s answered prayers only work on a soft echoe of delay. I feel cursed by the genie’s lamp I always sought so heavily to avoid.

 

‘Wasted time’ is all I can manage to think throughout my day of jetlagged haze. I spend it avoiding the heat and find a thoughtlessness far deeper than anything I could find in dreams. 

 

As day turns to night and I can feel my mind awakening again. The cooler evening breeze slowly carries thoughts to me. My brain finds new ideas and thoughts that I half-heartedly try to repress, watching the clock obsessively as it turns futher and further into the early hours. I think my body has attempted to adjust to this – as if becoming nocturnal is it’s only option; as if waking up just in time to see the sunset will help me. Nothing can help me now…

 

I remember when the hour between two and three am was the slowest time could go, but now it flicks past disregardful of my careful watch.

 

The watched pot doesn’t boil, but burns instead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

Dont we all feel like this
well expressed ruby, and understandable
i have those horrible nights when the idea's
train stops in sleepy town station..
and it takes forever to get to sleep,
you have to run through every idea that
pops into your head..
-nice write-
-ST