Thursday, January 27, 2011

Day 115: Toss. Turn. Rinse. Repeat.

Insomnia hits, and here I am.
Pacing without moving.
At the mercy of sleep.
I flip my pillow over once.
Then twice. 
I reposition my hands and legs repeatedly, trying to get comfortable.
Hot with the duvet.
And cold without it.
Where do ‘happy mediums’ go?
I’d love to know…they always seem to escape me.
I check the time again.
I begin mentally subtracting the amount of hours before I have to wake up.
I curse.
I look at the pile of books on my bedside table. 
Three half read novels and one abandoned journal.
I grab whichever novel I can reach and flip it open to any page.
I read aloud (to no one) the first line I see:
"When you start to live outside yourself, it's all dangerous." — The Garden of Eden.
Hmmmm. Ain't that the truth.
I continue to entertain myself with randomly picked sentences from Hemingway, Chekhov, and Marquez until I realize I should be sleeping.
I sigh.
I curse, again.
I throw my hands up in frustration at the irony of my life.
When I can’t sleep, I can’t dream.
And when I can’t allow myself to dream, I can’t sleep.


  1. This is great, I love how it flows and faithfully captures the ritual of an insomniac!

    Lady A x

  2. I'm going to use your quote to describe this post: Ain't that the truth.

  3. I like this! And I sure can relate!

  4. These are the times when we should treat ourselves well: duvet on the sofa, hot chocolate, no sugar, tot of whisky, and the torpid monotony of the television screen. Thirty minutes: ZZzzzzzzz!