Insomnia . . .
Insomnia is failure. Such a sense of failure . . . Not being able to do something that every other animal on the planet can do is pretty depressing.
Insomnia is waiting. Waiting for the moment when exhaustion catches up to you and you finally loose conciousness. The moment when finally your mind can't fight off sleep any longer.
Insomnia is anxiety. Spending all day worrying about when you will get to sleep tonight. Will I sleep tonight? Will I be able to function tomorrow?
Insomnia is math. If I get to sleep by 5:30 that gives me two and half hours of sleep before the Production Meeting. Then if I can sleep for forty-five minutes before the matinee that equals three and a quarter hours of sleep before I have to call the show.
Insomnia is being trapped. Trapped on the wrong side of the day. Sleep is the bridge from today to tomorrow. I cannot cross that bridge. Like a poor soul who Phlegyas won't ferry across the Styx. My bedroom becomes my limbo, my purgatory. I am trapped, unable to join the millions of other sleeping humans bridging one day to the next.
Insomnia is fear. I feel the night outside my window pressing in. Trying to crush my room. Day is huge but night is tiny. Miniscule. Close. Night creeps toward you like some 1950's horror movie creature, it's advance is slow and tedious. It reaches in to touch me. To crush me. Swallow me into its oblivion. I know I need it and yet I fear it too much to give in.
Insomnia is waiting. Waiting for the moment when exhaustion catches up to you and you finally loose conciousness. The moment when finally your mind can't fight off sleep any longer.
Insomnia is anxiety. Spending all day worrying about when you will get to sleep tonight. Will I sleep tonight? Will I be able to function tomorrow?
Insomnia is math. If I get to sleep by 5:30 that gives me two and half hours of sleep before the Production Meeting. Then if I can sleep for forty-five minutes before the matinee that equals three and a quarter hours of sleep before I have to call the show.
Insomnia is being trapped. Trapped on the wrong side of the day. Sleep is the bridge from today to tomorrow. I cannot cross that bridge. Like a poor soul who Phlegyas won't ferry across the Styx. My bedroom becomes my limbo, my purgatory. I am trapped, unable to join the millions of other sleeping humans bridging one day to the next.
Insomnia is fear. I feel the night outside my window pressing in. Trying to crush my room. Day is huge but night is tiny. Miniscule. Close. Night creeps toward you like some 1950's horror movie creature, it's advance is slow and tedious. It reaches in to touch me. To crush me. Swallow me into its oblivion. I know I need it and yet I fear it too much to give in.
posted by JohnXIV at 2:00 AM
2 Comments:
oh . . . john. . . sounds terrible.
have you tried reading something incredibly boring? that always works for me. . . .
is there something buging you?
John...dear man..sorry about the lack of sleep...I know how that can color one's view of the world...especially on the Barter schedule..when i could not sleep in Abingdon (directing shows there was an ivitation to such nights), I would get in the car and drive out to White's Mill, park and open the windows and sit and sit and breathe and sit some more and listen to the quiet...i found it deeply relaxing...deep breaths...xxev
Post a Comment
<< Home