The days are always dark here, and I don’t know if my body/mental health -psychology- can handle this new reality. Stuck, lost in a dream, I hear myself narrating, ruminating about the nonsensical train of indistinct, unimportant thoughts and mental baggage of a life spent cooped up within the realm of the reality of the constraints of the temple of the glass half empty, always half full of the hopes and the opportunity to live once again, freed within the existence of independence, objectivity and the pencil’s finely sharpened tip.
I cannot fall asleep once the sun has set. The light of day pulls at the nervous energy behind my eyes that knows the secret to unlock my potential. Even, or especially, when you sleep your energy must go somewhere and to where your energy goes is to me, and I lay awake, or more recently, I stay awake, disrupted and disturbed by the frenetic clustering of everyone while they slumber. The world sleeps.
The dawn breaks. I feel drained. People reclaim their electric pulse, and finally, sleep feels or seems so possible. Drowsy, my mind slows to a mile an hour. “It’s all about the pre-sleep routine,” they say. The routine begins: a mug of warm water, brush the teeth, light a scented candle, change socks and underwear, braid hair back, settle in, read ten pages of a book (no electronics, TV’s been off this whole time).
Someone’s chasing me, but I can’t run any faster despite how hard I try. There’s nothing original to this, I elucidate. Just stop, I realize. I’m dreaming, but I’m awake. The roar of an asshole’s motorcycle tears down the street. Fucking asshole. Oh, shit. Stay calm. Eyes open; now, I’m awake, awoken by my own narrative … again.