Sleep of Late

Dreary morning, this. Not much trouble sleeping. I can sleep when I make myself. Usually snoozing before midnight on school nights. Usually asleep by 2am on non-school nights. Sometimes school nights, too.

So, it’s not that I can’t sleep; it’s that I don’t want to sleep. Spare me the lecture. Lack of sleep takes a major toll on me the next day. School days that I treat like weekends my body is on autopilot. Focusing is more difficult.

When it’s grey like today, when the buildings melt into the sky, when the landscape seems a literal impressionist painting up close – muddied, yet chunky – I could keep sleeping. But I don’t.

I woke up to an overcast sky and tires from traffic 11 flights below slicking through water on asphalt. Yet, I couldn’t return to my dreams. Last night I dreamt of flexing my biceps. My mind switched channels between that and something else, and it was during something else the alarm clock rang. Then I lie in bed to start my routine of deciding what to wear. It’s Christmas Eve: I need to try to be a little festive.

Other people have these vivid dreams with specific details. They enjoy sleep. Sleep is nice, and goodness knows I could use the rest. My body needs the rest.

But my body fights with my mind.

My body wins when it’s just too much.

If there’s the slightest chance, my mind takes over. Thoughts dart back and forth; thoughts fixate; thoughts drill deeper; ideas stir. Sometimes I write. Sometimes we film. I wonder about my family. Seminary class. Friends. They are with me. I can hear their voices; see and feel the texture in their clothes. Their warm, smiling eyes melt into my memory, clearly.

Consciousness starkly contrasts the mushiness outside today; it rivals and betters even my sleepy visions of flexing biceps and jumping from planes and breathing underwater.

I may need to sleep, but I don’t want to, because my dreams are no match for being awake.