I turned and tossed my way through the night. My bed was uncomfortable, or at least, I was uncomfortable in my bed. I was very tired. I’m still very tired. I was fitful and floundering. My restlessness eventually gave into short sleeping jags and the dreams were nightmares and disjointed. I’d wake up more startled and unhappy.
My alarm clock was a ticking bomb bringing me ever closer to the time I really have to get out of bed and start getting ready for work. Each minute was less time to get some good sleep and nearer Monday morning. It was a pendulum of time swinging back and forth over my bed like the Sword of Damocles.
The frustrated noises of an unsettled night echoed in my head as I tried to rest it on my pillow. It seemed I’d forgotten how to sleep. As if my body just plum forgot how to do it. I felt the madness of sleeplessness start to take hold as I rose from my bed. I shuffled to the living room hoping a little bit different perspective might lull my forgetful body into a sleeping mode.
I sat quietly in the dark. I didn’t smoke. I just sat on my couch considering the wildness of the week I had just gone through. There was so much that happened it was no wonder sleeping seemed like a forgotten skill. The building was quiet. Cars splashed in puddles on the streets below. I felt myself drifting in and out of dozy sleep and upright awareness. It didn’t take too long for my mind to calm down and I finally went back to bed.
I woke up an hour later convinced I had slept through Monday. I had to reassure myself that it was still Sunday night and I hadn’t missed Monday. I returned to an uneasy slumber plagued with thoughts of work and women and love and food and booze. I re-listed my embarrassments and tried not to dwell on my failures. I tried to shake the stock of my silliness from my mind and closed my eyes tight.
If I only forced them shut I might fool my eyes into sleep. I hoped it would be a meaningful sleep and I could finally wake up well rested and ready for the challenges a new Monday might present to me. I continued to lumber through strange dreams and wakefulness and exhausted sleep.
Eventually my alarm clocks started going off pulling me from the edge of sleep I had just seemed to make it to. I had to rise from my uncomfortable bed and start the day. And now being awake and at work, I still feel like this is the dream and I’ll wake up yet again to the drone of my alarm clocks. I am not well rested. I am not well inclined to tackle the problems of the day. I just hope the day speeds along just as quickly as my night did and I’ll be able to return to my bed and get the real sleep I could so sorely use.
Sleepless Sunday nights are a strange cruelty to heave onto a Monday morning.