Seriously?!?!
After months of somnambulant bliss (don't worry; I never walk far), I can't beLIEVE that it is eye-creakingly late--4:17 a.m. I can't beLIEVE sleep has abandoned me AGAIN. I can't beLIEVE that the irritating birds will soon be up and mocking me with their unapologetic chirping. I swear, the "cheep-cheep-cheep" sounds to me like, "You can't sleep!" I'm either going to have to find a cure for the insomnia monster or else practice my aim when throwing things out the window. And, of course, the squawking of the birds will then be replaced by the squawking of my downstairs neighbor as she screeches at her zombified son with intermittent tobaccular hacks (a combination of tobacco and tubercular...see what I did there? aren't I terribly clever?) peppered in for style.
Seriously.
All these things serve to remind me that I get older by the minute. I can no more force myself to sleep than I can force myself to stop aging. A younger me used to relish this insomnia--there is always so much to DO. I doodled, I painted, I read, I wrote, I even sang (quietly, timidly and wretchedly, of course). The older I get, the more difficult it is to overcome the inertia that plagues me at night. It's kind of a cruel thing, actually. Now, I have just enough energy to make it impossible to shut my brain up, but all the musical, visual, and verbal outlets into which I used to dump its contents require more energy than I have "at my age".
Seriously.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am certainly not kvetching about BEING my age. I have loved the voyage so far and am quite comfortable with the amount of reminiscing and nostalgia I have packed in my mental holsters; however, I am also comfortable with the amount of eagerness and excitement I still have towards what hasn't happened yet. I am equal parts, "wasn't that great when...?" and "won't it BE great when...?" Add a pinch of actual circumstances and stir.
Seriously.
I had a great opportunity tonight to visit with a recently former student of mine. He is almost entirely,"won't it BE great when...? and no, "wasn't it great when...? I enjoyed listening to him talk about all of his "used to"s without a hint of sad nostalgia. While he was my student, we traded words like baseball cards (still do). I gave him books about writing poetry; he taught me some fundamentals of geometry. I honestly think he benefitted me more than I did him (in his infinite grace, he would probably disagree...if only to be nice.) It's nice to know that, despite the fact that pedagogy often creates a narcissistic feeling of knowing everything, I still enjoy to learn things, and especially love learning things from people I have taught. The feeling of reciprocity is nice.
Seriously.
Best of all, he talked about things he has been writing lately. Best of all, he still writes poetry and infuses it with an appreciation of science and maths uncharacteristic of a poet. Best of all, the...energy in his description made me miss writing enough that I overcame my inertia enough to reach to seventeen inches from couch to computer, uncorked my right ear (you all know why), and dump the ingredients of my mental stew onto the keys.
Seriously.
My brain is now purged. My computer is satiated. My cat is dream-twitching in my lap. The birds are not yet awake. I'm...I'm...sleepy!!! (Don't mistake the exclamation points for energy, though) me--1 insomnia/birds/basement harpy--nil.
...Seriously.
Sometimes the insomnia does hit me especially when something is bothering me. When it came, somehow it would just woke me up in the middle of the night without even giving me the pre-warning sign. You know what I mean? I am glad you used the time to write ...
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