Gun-totin', Chronic-smokin' Hearse Initiator (ludickid) wrote,
Gun-totin', Chronic-smokin' Hearse Initiator
ludickid

The Sleep of the Busted

I was trying to sleep last night, and here is the scenario that my brain presented me with: you are a late-model Russian tank. You have somehow attained self-awareness, but you have yet to be apprised of the fall of the Soviet Union. How are you going to make your way in the world, the economy being what it is? This sort of half-conscious third-grade speculation is part of why I haven't slept for eight hours at a time since 1992.

Also, I have been reading all these books on how to get a good night's sleep absent the possibility of actually getting medical care, and while they contain various bits of advice, the one common thread is: don't do anything in your bedroom other than sleeping and sex. No work, no TV, no music, no reading, no nothing: the bed, they all say, is just for sleeping and sex. So THANKS A LOT FOR REMINDING ME OF THE TWO THINGS I CAN'T DO IN BED, books.

This has been an unusually fecund period for me, creatively, but the problem is that between work, freelancing, and various other whatnots that occupy my moments, I haven't had as much time as I'd like to work on my personal writing. In an attempt to address this imbalance, I've lately taken to writing at three o'clock in the morning when I can't sleep and there's nothing else to do, but unsurprisingly, the character of the work has been adversely effected. Most of the narrative has taken to revolving around shattered, embittered alcoholic losers with insomnia who are teetering on the verge of a painful death. Well, write about what you know, they say!
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