Dear Insomnia,

“There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.

There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,committed or endured or suspected; there are worse thingsthan not being able to sleep for thinking about them.It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking inand stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.” 

I think I have insomnia.

I comfort myself with a false sense of superiority that I fancy having over those who are sleeping. For those who get a sound sleep, the night is too short, they can always sleep a little more. For me though, its as good as a decade. So much can be done. I read somewhere that an insomniac brain is like a conspiracy theorist that believes too much in its own paranoiac importance as though if it were to blink, then doze, the world might be overrun by some encroaching calamity, which its obsessive musings are somehow fending off. Come to think of it, it’s a disturbing thought. For me though, I am not so much as disturbed as I m restless, as though there’s a race against time and I am falling behind. I don’t know what I am reaching for but I want to keep running... towards…from…oblivious...

I just want to keep running.

“He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Clean Well Lighted Place