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insomnia, ad nauseum. current song: the clicks and whirr of the heater, the quiet hum of the processor fan, and the almost rhythmic tap of the keyboard. so, sate it i shall. you may ask, "lindsay, what are you thinking about that keeps you from the sleep you so desperately desire?", to which i reply, "everything, and nothing, all at the same time". visualize with me, if you will, a tremedous vault, lined with bookshelves taller than even the tallest person, with the long ladders on rails that slide right to left, and back again. this strange but veritable library of sorts is teeming with eager young staff, so thirsty for knowledge that they whiz to and fro on these ladders, flinging books this way and that. you are seated at a table, the only furnature in this crypt of wisdom; ancient tomes of forgotton lore, random magazines overloaded with popular culture, newspapers brimming with stories, journals scrawled by angst-ridden teens, still frames of family movies long forgotten, pictures and postcards and snippets of memory greatly abandoned, all landing open in front of you. and you, unable to block out this massive amount of stimuli, must endure the barrage of erattic feedback until you lose consciousness. fragmented pieces of yourself in a stew of the outside world that have turned to a sticky sludge, which coat the inside of your brain. this wordy simile is the most accurate description i can come up with to describe this pavlovian response of the inspection of the inside of my eyelids. it is as if i am poor alex delarge, strapped to a chair, eyes pried open, forced to intake the deluge of data. a clockwork orange, as anthony burgess truly meant. i have tried every trick in the book, from meditation and breathing techniques, to chemical seditaves, to focusing on one particular word to clear my head, to the plain-old counting of sheep. nothing works. people say to me, "oh, you're just not trying hard enough", or "you're just not focusing". believe me, i am. i want nothing more than to drift away on the proverbial cloud of slumber. then, once my mind finally wears itself out, there are the horrifyingly vivid dreams. i wake, pulse rapid, breathing shallow, thinking that what just happened in my head was real. i wouldn't call them all nightmares, as i suppose only a fraction of them would be considered frightning under normal terms, but they are all perturbing to me. it seems that my mind never really shuts down, but i become too physically exhausted to maintain cognizance and i go into a "hibernate mode" of sorts, the RAM on my motherboard still clicking away. however, the writing of this particularly verbose entry seems to have helped, and i shall try again to rest. i hope that your journeys to dreamland were effortless and rewarding, my dears. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
