Thursday, September 08, 2005
Just Once More
by venitha
It takes the mere thought of working for my mind to fling its doors wide open and roll out the red carpet as an irresistible invitation to insomnia.
Come right in and make yourself at home. We've been expecting you. May I pour you a drink?
Insomnia settles comfortably in, with a weight that indicates its brought the luggage for a long long stay. It scavenges in a big and dusty travel trunk for its chain mail coat and throws it heavily across my shoulders. Rustly folds press coldly on my chest, and chain links spiral in thick black snaking tentacles down my arms to shackle my wrists.
My breathing short and rasping, I toss and turn restlessly in such confinement.
On the fan. Off the fan. On the fan.
Get up and go to the bathroom for what must be the zillionth time in... what was it? Ten minutes? Or two hours?
In rare collusion with my body, my mind frantically races, searching hopelessly for solutions to the unresolvable problems of this life, this world, and my never-ending dissatisfaction... disillusion... disgust... with it all. 3:00 in the morning of the third night of no sleep, and my mind still stubbornly sifts through the wreckage of the same old discarded solutions to the same old tired problems, pieces and a puzzle that somehow just do not fit.
How many times must I try to fit this square peg into that round hole? Just once more. Always, just once more.
venitha
Come right in and make yourself at home. We've been expecting you. May I pour you a drink?
Insomnia settles comfortably in, with a weight that indicates its brought the luggage for a long long stay. It scavenges in a big and dusty travel trunk for its chain mail coat and throws it heavily across my shoulders. Rustly folds press coldly on my chest, and chain links spiral in thick black snaking tentacles down my arms to shackle my wrists.
My breathing short and rasping, I toss and turn restlessly in such confinement.
On the fan. Off the fan. On the fan.
Get up and go to the bathroom for what must be the zillionth time in... what was it? Ten minutes? Or two hours?
In rare collusion with my body, my mind frantically races, searching hopelessly for solutions to the unresolvable problems of this life, this world, and my never-ending dissatisfaction... disillusion... disgust... with it all. 3:00 in the morning of the third night of no sleep, and my mind still stubbornly sifts through the wreckage of the same old discarded solutions to the same old tired problems, pieces and a puzzle that somehow just do not fit.
How many times must I try to fit this square peg into that round hole? Just once more. Always, just once more.
venitha
