The sun’s rays are quite polite really. They peer unobtrusively from outside of the window and fall gently onto my sleepy head. Tip toe past the balcony, past the bright green rail. Through the fabric of all the residents of my clothesline, ‘left high and dry’ way past the required amount of time. Through the tiny slits on the glass pane, between various bits and scraps of paper that are testimony to my exploits of the last two years.
And all the rays do is nudge slightly… they don’t push or yell…
Perhaps because they know that a nudge is all I need. Because I am happy. And no amount of sleep can keep me in bed.
*
Some of my deepest fears are associated with waking up. As a person who doesn’t require too much sleep (I always tell myself that it is my mutant super power. Yes, I’ll confess, I always wanted to be one of the X-Men, though if given a choice I think I’d pick Magneto…or maybe Storm), an inability to extricate myself from bed is a sign that things aren’t quite right. In fact that they are probably horribly and terribly wrong.
I think it all goes back to a time not so long ago, when apart from the usual set of maladies I was well near crippled by sleep. Paralysed by a fear of getting up, going out to a brand new day and not having the faintest idea of what to do with it. Wanting to do one of several things: a) to wake up, make a list of things to do, and just DO them. b) to stop time, put the world in suspended animation and sort things out in my head with my silly self. And as a last and final resort, c) to be swallowed whole by the bed, never to be heard of again. To disappear into nothing.
The still, lethargic summer just made it all worse.
[when I think about it, c) sounds suspiciously like wanting to die. Which is a scary thought isn’t it, contemplating death? I don’t know if what I wanted was a temporary reprieve or a more permanent solution… maybe I just needed a break. Either way, I never went ahead with it. Can’t say if it was bravery or cowardice that swung things in favour of continuing, but I haven’t regretted the decision even once. I figure I must be doing something right]
Half an hour of sleep would turn into two halves, an hour would turn into three…
And there I’d be, in the wee hours of the morning… choking on my own incompetence… with nothing to show for an entire night’s worth of intentions to be industrious. Trying desperately to rouse myself, wanting to go back to sleep… but then there’s only so much of escaping into slumber that anyone can do.
*
It all came hurtling back a few days ago. But this time I gave myself time to mope. I slept too much, woke up reluctantly, walked for miles like a zombie. Poked and prodded my brain for an answer, regurgitated my woes on sympathetic ears. Felt lonely and then suddenly claustrophobic. Agitated and restless I opted for my favourite brand of ‘nomad therapy’- moving from place to place at a moment’s notice, you couldn’t pay me enough to sit still.
And then suddenly it went away, like a piddling little cold it left no marks or scars. Much fodder for introspection though and ample material for a disturbingly boring blog post. Me thinks one needs to budget time for such emotional aberrations. To work them into our jam-packed schedules and allow ourselves to just ‘be’. To strategically place ourselves in the midst of distractions.
Sometimes not thinking about something can make a world of difference.
And all the rays do is nudge slightly… they don’t push or yell…
Perhaps because they know that a nudge is all I need. Because I am happy. And no amount of sleep can keep me in bed.
*
Some of my deepest fears are associated with waking up. As a person who doesn’t require too much sleep (I always tell myself that it is my mutant super power. Yes, I’ll confess, I always wanted to be one of the X-Men, though if given a choice I think I’d pick Magneto…or maybe Storm), an inability to extricate myself from bed is a sign that things aren’t quite right. In fact that they are probably horribly and terribly wrong.
I think it all goes back to a time not so long ago, when apart from the usual set of maladies I was well near crippled by sleep. Paralysed by a fear of getting up, going out to a brand new day and not having the faintest idea of what to do with it. Wanting to do one of several things: a) to wake up, make a list of things to do, and just DO them. b) to stop time, put the world in suspended animation and sort things out in my head with my silly self. And as a last and final resort, c) to be swallowed whole by the bed, never to be heard of again. To disappear into nothing.
The still, lethargic summer just made it all worse.
[when I think about it, c) sounds suspiciously like wanting to die. Which is a scary thought isn’t it, contemplating death? I don’t know if what I wanted was a temporary reprieve or a more permanent solution… maybe I just needed a break. Either way, I never went ahead with it. Can’t say if it was bravery or cowardice that swung things in favour of continuing, but I haven’t regretted the decision even once. I figure I must be doing something right]
Half an hour of sleep would turn into two halves, an hour would turn into three…
And there I’d be, in the wee hours of the morning… choking on my own incompetence… with nothing to show for an entire night’s worth of intentions to be industrious. Trying desperately to rouse myself, wanting to go back to sleep… but then there’s only so much of escaping into slumber that anyone can do.
*
It all came hurtling back a few days ago. But this time I gave myself time to mope. I slept too much, woke up reluctantly, walked for miles like a zombie. Poked and prodded my brain for an answer, regurgitated my woes on sympathetic ears. Felt lonely and then suddenly claustrophobic. Agitated and restless I opted for my favourite brand of ‘nomad therapy’- moving from place to place at a moment’s notice, you couldn’t pay me enough to sit still.
And then suddenly it went away, like a piddling little cold it left no marks or scars. Much fodder for introspection though and ample material for a disturbingly boring blog post. Me thinks one needs to budget time for such emotional aberrations. To work them into our jam-packed schedules and allow ourselves to just ‘be’. To strategically place ourselves in the midst of distractions.
Sometimes not thinking about something can make a world of difference.
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