Thursday, May 31, 2012

There was supposed to be a post on Tuesday. That’s the God’s honest. In fact, I was thinking about publishing around 4 AM that very morning, just after sleeplessness officially struck. There’s always a moment, an inflection point during a bout of insomnia, when you’re resigned to do anything but sleep. For me, this happened at 3:17 AM. I remember rolling out of bed, looking at my alarm clock, and wondering why I had just spent 90 minutes in a poor pantomime of unconsciousness. This was around the time I considered blogging, such were the depths of my waking agitation.

Sleep is normally effortless. Based on my proclivity for naps, too, I’d say it’s something I enjoy. But I’ve been restless lately. There is a measure of peace missing for reasons unknown, and the only concrete evidence I have is the fallout: the tossing and the turning, the attempts to sink down, down into my pillow, only to shift to a slightly different spot, minutes later. What I decided to do at 3:17 AM, ultimately, was fire up the Xbox. Don’t really remember what I “accomplished,” short of collecting a shitload of pearls in-game, but it was repetitive enough to incur drowsiness and then–finally–sweet oblivion overtook me.

Growing up, I remember wondering why my old man had to pop sleeping pills to get through night. Doesn’t rest simply call for shutting your eyes? Easiest thing to do in the world, right? Now I know. It’s one of the surcharges of being an adult. I don’t want to self-medicate yet, though, because the drugs in question are designed to fuck with your brain. No, I need something to quiet my soul. Traditionally, this means Taco Bell.