So, you all know by now that I have an absurd and messed up sleep pattern, right? Well, it’s somehow gotten worse; I am still figuring out how to fix it.
Here’s the basic issue: I run my own business, and, thus, I must do lots of stuff every day to make sure everything runs smoothly, sometimes quite a bit in a single day. And, often, I cannot go to bed until a set number of things are done. Continue reading
On wings of downy feathers,
Of cotton balls in brains,
Of sluggish underthought,
And not a single refrain, Continue reading
Heat and sheets,
A cross breeze,
A softer bed than ever,
A bout of rainy weather. Continue reading
“I have not slept in so, so long.” Harold picked up his mug and sipped from it. Waiting for the reaction from his friend. The one he had called over for this exact conversation.
“How long are we talking?” George asked, eyeing him. “This is not like that time in college, is it?”
“No, no, nothing like that. That was weak sauce compared to this. I have not slept in… huh, I think it was twenty days now. It has been a major boon to my work cycle, I tell you that. I have gotten all the projects done I was ever planning on getting done in the last week or so.” Continue reading
What sleep had he got so far? Is it important? So much to do. Is it important at the end of the day how tired a person is?
Faced with it again, and again—and time was warping around him as he did what he could with the time he had and the chemicals that made it all possible to pound more and more words out in the frantic way of the life that he wanted. Continue reading
“That’s the problem, you see,” someone said, and Joseph rose with a start. He glanced around, and it was nothing behind his eyes.
And then, there was.
His lips smacked; eyes appeared glassy and out of focus. He scratched his head and pushed the blanket off himself. In the back of his mind, moving faster than any computer could calculate, images slotted in and linked and sparked with ignited connection.
“I’m… yeah…Joseph” he mumbled and went to the bathroom. Continue reading
Officer Harriet walked into her house, covered in sweat and something not dust—but easier to call it that. More of such “dust” covered her chairs, her couch, and especially the little worn out bed she had off in her room. Continue reading
Writers are solitary creatures, but, I am increasingly social lately. And, in my “travels,” I’ve learned the accuracy of an oft-repeated statement: almost no one has their shit together. People may put on a good show, a front of calm and being collected, but everyone is scrambling and panicked—if only a little.
The most common sign of this I hear from people is sleep deprivation. I cannot believe how many of my fellow twenty-somethings sacrifice sleep. Continue reading
Oh, look at the time.
Gone again—back again.
Late nights are the day for me.
I haven’t seen much of the sun.
I can’t understand why—but sleep is not my friend. Continue reading
Oh, a writer likes caffeine. Oh, big shock. Yeah, that’s not the issue: it’s that I didn’t always like coffee—and, in fact, I consider coffee to be emblematic of a deep issue with modern society. Continue reading
“You do know I do need to sleep, right?” he asked, peering up at her. With her hair forming a halo around her face, Gertrude looked like some mixture of angel and a trickster god—her countenance round and full of mischief.
“Oh, I don’t know—sleep might not matter all that much, actually. Did you ever try not sleeping?” Continue reading
I am writing this on 5 hours sleep, and with what I call “daytime insomnia,” which means an inability to nap no matter how tired I get. So, in the interest of my own continuing mental stability, I will keep this article short. But, I wanted to at least get something out of my exhausted mind, as my life is content fodder if nothing else. Continue reading