In high school I adopted a strange sleep schedule that would often leave me unable to sleep when I really needed to. I would be up on a school night until three or four in the morning. The time would be spent reading, writing and running over different scenarios in my head. At a certain point the carnival behind your eyes gets going a little too fast and you start thinking that maybe you don’t even need sleep. Eventually you crash and when the alarm blares you to wakefulness you hate that four am self – so it goes.
Last night I returned to that for the first time in four or five years staring at the ceiling, which after a few hours of tossing and turning slowly turns to talking to the ceiling.
“Why can’t I sleep?”
“Are you even listening?”
“What price bananas?”
“Why are there so many relationships that are really just secret eye contact that has no communicative substance and are supposed to be exciting because of that?”
“I really don’t want to call the parents of my sixth period students so I keep losing the paper with their numbers.”
“I forgot to buy floss.”
After a time this too lost its novelty so I opened my computer. On the internet time loses its meaning. Company and entertainment are at your fingertips, and 2:19 am is just three number separated by a colon.
But then Monday started to press its bald and angry head into my consciousness. Monday is a bald male that does not floss, and has emotional issues. Monday has emotional issues of the kind that manifest in a cry in the middle of dinner on date number two. They force you to pretend to take a phone call so you can get out of there and promise yourself never to date someone from the office again. After that date you pity him whenever you see him by the water cooler, but not when he’s standing by his car in the parking lot staring at you. That’s what Monday is like.
Fateful Monday with all its glitter and glamor – I’ve begun to realize that the anxiety I feel from when the alarm goes off Sunday morning to when I go to bed that night is not productive. Profound I know, I have a four year degree so we can give the credit to Eastern. When the first bell sounds on Monday the day presses on regardless of how much I prepared or how little.
At some point I turned away from the ceiling said, "Everything is going to be ok,” and flipped off the light.