Thursday, April 15, 2010

Tonight’s post is brought to you–hand-delivered to your mental porch–with the profoundest ennui, the origins of which I’ve been trying to locate. I’d like to take a break from communicating, crazy as that sounds. Simple conversations are draining. Reading e-mails requires a sizable investment of energy, and as for replying to them or, heaven forbid, composing one from scratch? Let us use the screeching sound your car makes when you try to turn the engine twice over, if we may, for illustrative purposes.

Perhaps this is fallout from my recent run at normalcy, or maybe it’s merely a timely form of protest. Whatever the case may be, I simply want to say, “Shut the eff up!” And then harvest, truly treasure, the precious quantity of silence found in the wake of this declaration. Should you also want a measure of silence, well, I’m sorry, because I plan on keeping it all to myself.

Napping is all I have scheduled for this weekend. Just generous amounts of shuteye. My desire to go incommunicado, in the parlance of Spaniards, may actually be a case of me getting surly from lack of sleep. I’ve been averaging six hours of rest a night for the past week or so, and I imagine it can’t be healthy. During the course of one of these evenings, I was also privy to one of the most grotesque and startlingly detailed nightmares in recent memory. I need to right my brain. Calendar’s been blocked out for sweet, sweet oblivion, and the appointment starts now.