Pretentiousness, I can do well. Sleep, not so good. I get to sleep OK – quite fast, in fact – but awaken after a few hours to find that the washing machine of ideas I call my brain is in spin cycle, keeping me awake.
I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the fact that Zion’s on not-much-sleep are considerably less fun and functional than Zion’s with loads of sleep. The latter is a fireball of cheerful energy; jokes abound and eager to get on with things. The former is a right grumpy bastard.
It’s not like I need to get up for anything, either. Long ago I deemed that me and alarm clocks were never going to be on speaking terms, so I engineered my life in such a way where there is no time to get up. Problem is, I find sleep incredibly boring and, after a while, the notion of lying in bed seems like such nonsense.
Think about it. At any given time on this revolving dust-ball we call home, billions of human beings are just laying down. Unconscious to the world; oblivious to their surroundings. It seems like such a preposterous notion, I find myself getting all embarrassed for encouraging such daftness. So I get up and do things.
I’ve tried many remedies. The only ones that seem to work are the more hard-core sleepy pills and potions, but they just leave me feel drugged up and hungover the following day. The natural cures do the sum total of Fuck All.
Unless I can solve this problem soon, the bags under my eyes will become suitcases and gone will be my youthful looks. That depresses the shit out of me: all because my stupid body can’t behave itself I have to end up looking like Grandpa.
I have a few more ideas up my sleeve, from an MP3 player to distract my brain from thought to a full frontal lobotomy.
I will keep you posted.
