DESULTORY FAIRGROUNDS SKETCHES AND EQUALLY DESULTORY ODE TO INSOMNIA
Monday, June 27, 2011 at 03:35AM 
How all things do conspire against the sleepless! The plumbing writhes and belches, the floors pitch like ships’ decks, the walls groan and heave, birds throw their tiny bodies against the windows, screaming. It’s as if you’ve been invited to inhabit a painting by Van Gogh. Bedbugs suddenly come to life, industriously scuttling about, combing every inch of your sullen flesh, gathering sloughed skin cells or whatever it is that bedbugs gather. The huge, suffocating silence that sits on your chest, its claws dug into your tufty hair, mocks your inability to lose consciousness. Finally the bed, which has transformed itself into the surface of the moon, with tiny stiff American flags and abandoned lunar rovers digging into your ribs, becomes intolerable and you drag yourself, sluglike, into another room, where you blearily type out a blog entry whose addled, sleep-deprived syntax you will dread to read in the morning.
Reader Comments (9)
My dread has been vindicated.
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Speaking of addled, sleep-deprived syntax ...
My dread has been vindicated
You're only saying that because you had a bad night.
My dread sustains me although out the day.
You are doing Bernice-speak now.
So it's Bernice who has been leaving these cryptic messages! That explains a lot!
My mind would be doing well to please fuck off and go to sleep. Instead it chooses to race a speeds surpassing a cracked out paregrine in full dive for another rock.
Certainly my insomnia pattern started out of the former kind, the unable to drop off, usually because my head was pulsing with thoughts, some significant, many trivial, the brain saying 'we're not done with the day yet mister'.