You were right to wait. She said she wasn’t interested in you in that way. You listened to the voice inside your head that said in a surprisingly clear voice, “Back off, be patient, this one is worth waiting for.”
So an intense(more) friendship began the kind that has everything but the juicy parts. But the emotional intimacy was what you really craved. Sharing, getting to know her and what you suspected were the many layers. And what a delectable pastry it was; an apple strudel that would make Viennese pastry artists envy. The layers proved to be deep and continue to be deep.
She tells you slowly, haltingly about past lovers, her family, her faith. There are long silences. You are willing to wait. Indeed, you often find it quite pleasurable to sit there in the silence. Not many people are patient enough to wait, but I wait.
It was like a scene from The Dawn Of The Living Dead. His eyes were sunken and darkened. His skin had a look of a well beaten Bodhrán. He felt itchy and irritable and was unable to focus, speak, move, think, care, or breath. OK, he could breath but that was only because(more) it didn't require conscious effort. Anything that required a synapse firing outside his medula oblongata was out of bounds and unreliable.
He used to joke that once you admitted to being an alcoholic, waking up like this wasn't a problem anymore, it was practically an obligation. But now it was catching up with him. Whatever the 'it' was, you cared to choose. 'It' was catching up. His finances were a mess, he was hanging on to his job my a fine thread. And sleep had become a memory. Again.
What was he going to do now? The drink was his way of shutting down his mind. For too long he spent his nights wide awake, looking at the night, travel across his room. It would sneak away before morning caught it and he would witness every slow second of the chase. He started having a drop before bed. It calmed the activity and gave him a facsimile of sleep. Not as good as the real thing but a good enough imitation to suffice.
But as the nights went on and his tolerance grew, he needed more and more booze each night to quell the thoughts. Now he was drinking all the time. He had the guilt of letting himself get like this, added on top of it all.
Darkness. Light - brief, blinding - playing across the wall from the high beams of a passing car; shouldn't even be on, not in this weather.
Millions of static dots shrieking from the ceiling, like a bad television pickup.
When he closes his eyes - geometric pattern(more)s, grey and twisting. Winking blue lights in the distance. Nebulous clouds of red and green that bloom like poisonous flowers against his eyelids.
It hurts when he rubs his eyes. Does it anyways.
The clock by his bed - if it can be called a bed when there is no bedframe, only a stinking mattress and a tangle of scratchy blankets shoved into a corner of the room - reads three in toxic, glowing green. Doesn't know three what. The minute markers are blank zeros, dead behind a thin plastic screen. Should really change the batteries, but not now. Not at three, in the dark. Later, maybe, if there is a convenient later. Most laters tend not to be.
Another car. No high beams. Smiles in the dark. Nice to know not everyone's an idiot, at least about the little things. Then again, he's never known anyone to be driving home at three who wasn't one.
Glances at the clock again. Four now. Two more hours and then maybe it will be socially acceptable to get up. Find a book, sit in the kitchen, wait for Pieter. Pieter always makes the coffee. Gets snippish if she doesn't get the chance. Doesn't know why. Files it under tawdry quirks, along with insomnia.
Thinks about death. Wonders if there is an afterlife. Wonders if science counts as a sin. Closes his eyes. Back come the colors. He rubs. It hurts. Rubs again anyways.
Pieter will wake up in two and a half hours. (less)
As I lay there I wondered how long more I would have to lie there to make it seem like a reasonable time to get up. It was mid-Summer and the rising sun streamed through the gap where my curtains didn't quite meet. I wished I could just roll over. Have another(more) "forty-winks". I wished I was one of those people who could sleep practically anywhere. Since I had started having trouble sleeping, I had become hyper-aware of the dozing members of society. Just yesterday I had seen a woman sleeping on the DART, just like that, in broad daylight, during rush-hour, out for the count! The last time I was at the late showing in the cinema, the man in front of me had pretty much nodded off before the trailers had ended. My watch read 5:11. It was unreasonably early. But I knew I would not get back to sleep "tonight". My feet were sweaty and my heart was pounding in my chest. The more I thought about it, the less likely I was to ever drop off again. It was four hours until work, Four Hours! By the time I got there, I would have been up for the equivalent of a half a day's work without even doing anything. It seemed so unfair, how was it that the minute I hit my desk all I wanted to do was to lay my head on my folded arms and drop off? And here I was, on a bed, beds were made for dropping off on! Why oh why was I wide awake? Realistically, the earliest I could sensibly get up was at 7am. Nearly two more hours. I lay there, sunlight hitting the pillow, willing the elusive sleep to come.(less)
How long has it been...three days? Four?
If this thing is spinning at a constant rate...and it seems to be constant... using that star there in the distance as a reference point...It's been...ugh...too long...
(more) My eyes won't shut. I'm too tired to close them...or too frozen. First thing to go when your engine fails: the heating. Two rotations into this so-called "tailspin" my eyes froze open.
And all I want to do is close my eyes. I don't want to see that. That nothing I'm spinning towards; it's disconcerning. No, it isn't disconcerning; it's the thoughts that blackness brings up. How I ended up here. How I was running away. How that lump of rock hit my tin can just so as to destroy the engine but left me alive. It couldn't have killed me, no. That's too good for a coward.
It's funny. The war behind me used to keep me up all night worrying if I was going to die. Now, the empty space is keeping me up all night...and day...is there a difference in the dark?..
Just stop it! I can't think in circles! It's making me dizzy!
Keep it linear:
I got drafted.
I was afraid.
I didn't sleep.
I ran away.
My ship was hit.
And now...I'm going to sleep. And I will sleep for a very long time.
I am cold, frozen.
I am dizzy...And the ship spins...
I am awake...
But soon, I'll sleep.
If only I could smile.
That emptiness in front of me...it looks so comfortable, like a big pillow of soft nothing.
Now, using that star in the distance as a reference point...it shouldn't be too long now.
I must be an isomniac because i stay up all night trying to figure you out. I over think about what i'm going to and how i'm going todo it... why cant i just stop thinking and sleep... i"m afraid to sleep because i'm afraid if i close my(more) eyes i will see his face above my own taking my life away with his bare hands. no matter how happy i am or how much i try to forget about Josh. he's still there lurking in thr corner of my thoughts. But he;s not the only one... there are these girls at school that used to be my friends and now they hate my guts. My boyfriend and i agree that i should just ignore them but's hard when they force you to feel their presence. This is why i am an insomniac because i feel like the whole world is spinning and my mind wont stop till it's 5am and i have to get ready for school.(less)