From Discontent to Loathing: The Current Status of Sleep

The signs are all there.

The pale skin.

The insomnia.

The suspiciously outdated slang.

The bloodlust.

It’s all becoming clear… I’m a writer.

*Mr. X: Bloodlust?! Audrey, do we need to talk?
Audrey: Don’t give me any guff, bucko, or I’ll sock ya!

It is 3:07 AM as I write this, and once again I am not sleeping. As I made my way home a few hours ago, I contemplated my options:

  1. Go straight to bed. It’s nearly midnight, and it’s the healthy thing to do.
  2. Don’t go to bed. Have some sugar, watch a long-cancelled comedy, do some work**, figure out what elements I’m still missing for my Halloween costume…

Clearly, I chose option 1.

It was on the subway platform, at the end of a long day, waiting for the train, when I thought to myself: I hate sleep.

I hate it. I don’t want to. I can’t, I won’t, and I hate it.

It wasn’t always this way. Sleep and I have a long history of difficulties, mainly revolving around my inability to achieve it, but we’ve come to a place where I simply do not want to sleep. I go to bed because I have to, then I get out of bed as quickly as I can.***

**Mr. X, in his review of this post, asked why sugar and TV were in there, but working was not. I totally did some work. It’s just not as interesting as a mini-Snickers.

***Which, if you think about it, is an improvement from my previous state, in which I could not get out of bed at all.

I wrote a pretty excellent piece on the subject****, in a notebook I currently do not have access to. Alas. The elusive better wording. The summation of my epiphany, however, was this: I do not want to sleep because to sleep is to end the day, and many days I do not accomplish anything, and as long as I stay awake there is still potential to salvage that day, while to give in to sleep gives the day a finality akin to failure.

****if I may say so myself.

As to my current sleep issue, I’m waiting on that epiphany. I’ve got hints of something brewing… a discomfort with my current shelter, a whirlwind of anxiety, the fact that this is the only time of day when it’s quiet (but that’s what I’ve always loved about the night). What brought on this night’s burst of vehement awake-ness? This week’s forced insomnia? Why am I so reluctant to sleep? Perhaps because I am so unexcited about tomorrow?

One of the problems of not sleeping, incidentally, is losing one’s wits. Hence this post.


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