A short wherein I describe the things that keep me up at night. |
Some portion of my mind is a masochist; waking up whenever the rest of me attempts to sleep and forcing me to picture an elderly, deranged woman from a movie I recently watched, Shutter Island. Her eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, as I pass she looks up and smiles then slowly raises a finger to her lips and hushes me. My description fails to capture her chilling air, suffice it to say that she makes sleep difficult. In addition to being utterly terrifying, it’s frustrating. It's as if that portion of my mind wishes to be spiteful as it scares the rest of me: the woman isn't an important character, she doesn’t do anything truly frightening, and her on-camera time amounts to about ten seconds. Of course, I don’t take the spite lying down...by the time I've imagined squeezing that portion of my mind into a bug-like shape and holding a blow torch to it, I can usually fall asleep. I know it isn’t “healthy” to imagine my mind in a divided state, let alone incinerating those divisions, but I embrace the “if you fear that you’re crazy you probably aren't” brand of logic to reassure myself. Of course, that reassurance kills its own source, how paradoxical. When I contemplate my sanity, the thoughts in my head become so convoluted that I find myself wishing I hadn’t started, so I’ll go ahead and squash and burn that train of thought as well. I do find it interesting though, humorous even. My mind has gone haywire in too many ways to count. It seems to misinterpret the darkness of nighttime for some blank canvas to be filled with anything but sleep…I can’t even be unconscious correctly. |