Category Archives: Sleep

Gentle Sleep

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Beloved from pole to pole.

                             ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I slept in a bed last night for the first time in a long time…at least three weeks.  I mostly crash out on the floor or fold up into an armchair, and I wake up feeling substantially less than stellar.  I never stay asleep for long.  Most nights, I never formulate the intent of going to sleep.  My best method for konking out is heavy drinking, so I’ve been doing quite a bit of that lately in the evenings.  However, both alcohol and drugs have an annoying chemical rebound effect, so before I know it, I’m awake and restless.  Once the sun is up and I’m effectively exhausted, I can usually catch a good nap.  I sleep best around 8 or 9AM (just in time for work).  

Last night was divine.  I put on pajamas, grabbed Grover (my faithful and steadfast companion), crawled into bed, stretched out on the soft mattress, and pulled the covers up to my chin.  I didn’t know I felt so rundown, but once I was laying down, I suddenly became indescribably exhausted and weary, as if I hadn’t slept in a year.  I don’t think I’ve ever been that tired before.  I melted into the mattress and my eyelids became like lead.  My bed was fit for a royal palace, and I was so completely grateful for it.  It felt heavenly to stretch out and just relax.  I let my mind drift where it pleased, but it was emptied of thoughts and distractions; it simply was.  I soaked up every minute of the experience until I blissfully fell asleep moments later.

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Sobriety Turns Me On

The humdrum, simple moments of life are what I want so badly I can taste it.  I fantasize about it.  I have dreams flushed with the radiance of life’s simple pleasures, the everyday trials and rewards that routine brings.  I also have exasperating dreams where I use copiously and can’t get high, and mind-blowingly satisfying dreams where I use and it feels sooo good, like it did the first time.    

I wake up every morning with the hope that my high today will be better than it was yesterday, that maybe it will feel good again.  The ecstasy of using disappeared a while ago.  For the most part, all it does now is help me maintain and keep feelings of sickness at bay.  My greatest wish is to wake up, go to a dull job, come home, eat dinner, spend a few hours in the evening winding down, and repeat it the next day.  I would find so much satisfaction in that.  I fear losing everything, including drugs, which are my final and failsafe lifeline.  I am fucking up so badly with my obligations at work and home that I anticipate encountering something drastic every time I step outside my door.  Even so, drugs create this invisible shield that buffers me from all of it.  It’s a mental partition that keeps me from being too concerned over the reality of my situation, which is that I’m hanging on by less than a thread.  My goal is to make people think I’m hanging on by at least a thread, but that veneer is beginning to wear extremely thin.  Every day I screw up and blow things for myself and people around me, and I think, tomorrow; I’ll get it right tomorrow.  Every night I go to bed with the best of intentions to get up at 5AM, crank out a week’s worth of work by 9AM, another week’s worth by noon, tend to everything I’ve been neglecting for months, and achieve some damage control by patching up a bit of the harm I’ve caused.  Realistically, I usually stay up using until 5AM, but this thought process carries over from Monday to Tuesday, then to Wednesday and so on, until another Friday has come and gone.  Then I think, I’ll catch up this weekend.  I anticipate each weekend as a chance to make up some extra credit points.  It never happens.  Pretty soon weeks start bleeding into each other, then months, and it starts to sink in that I’ve lost control.  Still, every morning I wake up hoping that today will be a better day than yesterday, and that I can make things up a little to the people in my life.

I used to have this fantasy as a kid that I could freeze time and still move around in the world.  For instance, I would freeze time and spend a week doing whatever the hell I wanted, and I could clean my room too.  When time started up again, my room would be clean and I wouldn’t be in trouble anymore.  I wish I could do that now, and just take some time to myself to rest and recharge.  I would keep time frozen as long as it takes to finally get a restful sleep and wake up feeling refreshed and restored.  I wish I could actually ask people for an opportunity like that, to just take a week to rest.  I hit a wall a long time ago, and I just need to back up for a short while and catch my breath.  I can’t bring myself to talk about it with anyone though. 

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Filed under Drinking, Drugs, My Life, Sleep

Troubled Dreams

I had the worst nightmares last night.  Some nights I am plagued by them; last night was one of those nights.  Usually they seem at least somewhat fitting to my waking life, but last night they were wild and random and just plain peculiar.  In one of them, my husband, our son, and our dog and cat (I actually have no dependents, human or otherwise) led this horrible existence.  We woke up every day, went through the same shitty routine, hated every millisecond of it, and just surrendered to our mundane reality.  Time crept on and on.  My son really had it in for me.  He was around two years old.  He kept trying to do me in by suffocating me, and my husband either didn’t believe me or didn’t care.  I wasn’t quite sure.  It was a lonely and terrifying existence. 

Then I discovered that we were all dead, and had been living as ghosts.  It suddenly made sense as to why we were so isolated and scared all the time.  We kept trying to go places but never arrived, and we couldn’t interact with anything material outside of our own home.  Everything that was real and solid and consequential to the living took on a phantom characteristic to us.  All we had to eat was this miry slop of murky poppyseed goo…hmm.  My husband kept handing me bowls of it, and I didn’t want to eat any more of it.  The dream was crisscrossed by lots of strange railroad crossings with ghostly trains occupied by the living that blew past in terrifying blurs.  At the end, my family and I were on an outing to a gray calcified beach on an overcast afternoon (perhaps that’s the kind of summer vacation ghosts are limited to?).  On the way, we were rapidly approaching a crossroads that plunged fear into my throat.  There was a practically translucent Civil War-era soldier mounted on an ashen horse (pale horse, pale rider?) approaching from our left.  I don’t think he had seen us yet, but our meeting was inevitable at the junction.  I awoke in a sweat with my heart pounding.  I was sooo relieved we didn’t have to meet that guy.

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Piss Off, Dreams!

I have this exceedingly annoying habit of dreaming in vivid detail about things I need to finish or take care of, then I wake up thinking they’re done.  Whereas the unresolved circumstance may have been screaming bloody murder in the back of my mind all day, week, or month prior, I dream about it and wake up with a feeling of reslution and completion.  The feeling doesn’t fade, like lingering feelings usually do after a dream.  The result is that I go around subconsciously content that my affairs are in order, which deters me from consciously thinking about them, and I’m blissfully happy until the unresolved matter comes crashing down on my head.  This happens to me all the time.  It has to be one of the most annoying habits ever.

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Carving Out

I will carve out my perfection.  Until now, I have been stagnant, idle, indulgent.  My willpower has been bested by weakness.  I desire perfection.  Pure, empty, clean, carved-out perfection.  I have a vision that permeates my thoughts.  Accomplishing it will take flawless persistence and discipline.  Self-control is systematic; neglect leads to atrophy.  I have decayed to the point of ineffectiveness.  Now is the time to strengthen it once again.

I will carve out a space for myself in this molecular realm.  The more I subtract, the more complete I will become.  AI will don an armor of my own creation as impenetrable as steel, as translucent as water, as light as air.  This armor shall keep and sustain me wherever I go.  Our world believes materialism and accumulation to be the highest good.  Use, take, do.  It does not reward abstinence.  It does not always know the sweet fulfillment or richness that comes when lucid clarity infuses the mind.  Basic and primitive forces cage us.  The result is that we are weighed down, unable to travel through life as we please, awkward in living.  We become prisoners of our own ineffectiveness.  Our intemperance is exposed by way of burdened captivity.  I wear invisible chains, molecular restraints.  I will once again discover that less is more; control is divine; simplicity is perfection. 

Perfection demands an understanding of one’s reality as well as one’s potential.  The body exists in the past, acting on fears, not understanding that antediluvian threats have subsided.  The wary mind exists only in the present, living for the existing moment, extorting the biological talent for survival as it falls away from sensible restraint.  I will journey toward the future. There, I will transcend weakness, become liberated from it.  Nature demonstrates the inevitability of cycles.  By journeying into a liberated future, I will return to my past origin, where I will once again remind my body of wholeness, because I can offer it that.  I will reconnect with my biological strength. I will learn intimately the makeup of my skeleton—that which upholds me—and contemplate every bone revealed beneath my carved-out achievement.

My body will be my tapestry.  I am an artist, a sculptor, free to fashion it as I please.  Now, my body shows signs of being bound by mental weakness.  I will scuplt it into what I desire, and ignore those who tell me I must be a certain way.  I do not exist for them.  I no longer want to please them or the world.  I want to live for myself.  I do not desire to identify with the masses.  They require each other’s endorsement like they require air; it is their affirmation that they are on the right path. I will carve out my own path, savor the victory of willpower over mind and body.  I savor the idea of not be subjugated by my body any more.  I dictate how far my body and I travel on this journey of creating art together.  I seek the heart of a lion.  I belong to the warrior in myself.

There are no illusions about this pursuit.  This gripping impulse to create art, my art, is not without viciousness.  Along with the viciousness of cravings, deep pains, interrupted sleep, and lapses comes the viciousness of this mindset overriding all others to the point of its own manner of ineffectiveness.  It becomes impossible to think of other things; it consumes everything.  I must test myself to see if I can do this.  In an ironic blow, the act of rejecting what I crave will cause my mind and body to become fixated on it.  Those intoxicating thoughts will invade all facets of waking life and give color to dreams.  Still, restraint offers rewards to those who practice it.  Senses are enhanced; the mind is sharpened; the body is perfected.  Every remaining molecule becomes fine-tuned, a work of precision.  What remains is flawless willpower, pure emptiness. Carved-out perfection.

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Red Eye

Aaaaccchh!  Tired people are supposed to be able to sleep.  I’m fucking tired.  I can’t sleep.  My mom is hooked on sleeping pills.  I take them when I go to her home, and she usually offers me one or two.  I take them.  I take them from everyone I can, but then I down them and they’re gone.  Dammit!!

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