![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sometimes I wish my brain had an off switch.
Last night I struggled to keep my eyes open and called it quits early to snuggle down in bed. Sleepy, pyjama-clad girl snuggling under the covers, eyelids heavy and body exhausted.
Flick.
The thinking begins. One after another the thoughts crowd in and coalesce: poems, conversations, tasks requiring my attention: jostling for their 15 seconds of conscious consideration.
The temptation is to rise, to scurry for pen and paper and capture what I can of the cacophony, but experience shows that the spell is broken by the sobering glow of lamplight.
Flick.
Surrender to the light and to wakefulness, only to feel the drowsiness return, settling heavily over my awareness. Eyes praying for the mercy of the dark, thoughts focussed on nothing but the desire to sleep, to rest from the chaos of thought and the concerns of the wakeful.
Flick.
Moving now into the netherworld, the purgatory between consciousness and true sleep. A flirtation with lucidity distorted by exhaustion. Dreaming and reality joined in a perverse dance of confusion. Did I hear something? What was that? Nothing but an illusion, a reflection of reality distorted in my mind.
Flick.
Only a dream. Things are as I left them, the night is still and silent and only I am not at rest. Return to the sanctity of the covers and the knowledge that dawn is nearing. Surrender to the inevitability of insomnia, only to be welcomed into the open arms of my sole desire.
Flick.
Zzzzzzzzzz…
(taken from the old journal)
Last night I struggled to keep my eyes open and called it quits early to snuggle down in bed. Sleepy, pyjama-clad girl snuggling under the covers, eyelids heavy and body exhausted.
Flick.
The thinking begins. One after another the thoughts crowd in and coalesce: poems, conversations, tasks requiring my attention: jostling for their 15 seconds of conscious consideration.
The temptation is to rise, to scurry for pen and paper and capture what I can of the cacophony, but experience shows that the spell is broken by the sobering glow of lamplight.
Flick.
Surrender to the light and to wakefulness, only to feel the drowsiness return, settling heavily over my awareness. Eyes praying for the mercy of the dark, thoughts focussed on nothing but the desire to sleep, to rest from the chaos of thought and the concerns of the wakeful.
Flick.
Moving now into the netherworld, the purgatory between consciousness and true sleep. A flirtation with lucidity distorted by exhaustion. Dreaming and reality joined in a perverse dance of confusion. Did I hear something? What was that? Nothing but an illusion, a reflection of reality distorted in my mind.
Flick.
Only a dream. Things are as I left them, the night is still and silent and only I am not at rest. Return to the sanctity of the covers and the knowledge that dawn is nearing. Surrender to the inevitability of insomnia, only to be welcomed into the open arms of my sole desire.
Flick.
Zzzzzzzzzz…
(taken from the old journal)