Works Fine In Theory

The lids close and darkness prevails. Muscles begin their slow collapse around the cheek and jaw and some of the wrinkles which punctuate eyes and nose and forehead are less prominent. At first, the thought is nothing. Just the dark. An absence of thought. Something removed. An innate desire to embrace the notion that unpleasantness is momentarily gone; but a childish notion which sits alongside small children covering their eyes and saying, “You can’t see me” for practicality. It’s not practical. It’s not real: the unpleasantness is still there. All you have to do is open your eyes again. But you don’t. Twin drawbridges remain up, refusing to allow traffic into the keep. The brain begins to do it’s own form of relaxing. Seratonin levels decrease as Melatonin levels pick up and these changes in the neurotransmitter cocktail signal good things for blocking it all out, and dreaming about running barefoot along the sand at a beach on a late summer afternoon or fighting Godzilla’s stepson using only a large paving stone.

That’s the theory anyway.

I usually can’t get comfortable. Or I’m too hot. Or I need to go to the toilet. Or it’s all of those, and many other reasons, which mean I don’t feel right. Not sleepy. Like it’s a waste of time. A Cosmic joke of some kind, to be so tired and so unable to do anything about it.

Feeling that rush of welcome weariness, which can only mean imminent sleep, is special; I wish those people who regularly feel it realised how lucky they are.

I can’t properly put concerns about tomorrow and the worries of yesterday away, to be dealt with at a later time. And then there’s the waking up, in the middle of the night, and not being able to sleep again, which isn’t helpful even when you have drifted off quite easily a couple of hours before.

I just don’t think I’m very good at it.

Published in: on April 5, 2011 at 8:33 pm  Leave a Comment  

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