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Lying in bed, it’s not that I don’t feel tired, but there’s this vacuum where tiredness swirls into nothing. Strange. Getting out of bed in the mornings is like dragging myself out of a coma. Throughout the day, there’ll be occasional lapses where I feel I could fall asleep regardless of what I’m doing – working at the computer, eating lunch, or sitting in front of the television. But once I’m in bed, that tiredness, that need for sleep, evaporates. Lots of things flit through my mind. My writing. Stuff to do at work. Shit I should’ve said in arguments I’ve had. Random images. Projections of what I want for…
Twenty-Five
The close of work for the year dovetailed into some heavy Christmas rains and a bout of overdue laziness, which meant I didn’t take a daily walk, and I didn’t exercise in any way. My one recourse in trying to address my sleep difficulties has been to tire myself physically, but now I was lazing around in my first week of holidays. Come the night, I would lie in bed, restless and hyperalert, the furthest thing from tired although I should’ve been due to the collective lack of sleep. Images flashed through my head – landscapes, and stars, and other things which, in retrospect, makes me think I must’ve been…
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