Since I've gotten back from Japan I haven't been able to sleep at night. It's been this way for days now. At around 10:30, after brushing my teeth and slipping into a comfy pair of pajamas, I get into bed. Sleep, however, never comes. Behind closed eyelids, my mind remains alert. Trouble sleeping isn't something I'm used to. In a comfortable bed I can typically fall asleep within minutes. Insomnia plagues some people, I'm sure. I've read as much. But reading about a thing and experiencing it are not the same. Tossing and turning fruitlessly becomes a frustrating exercise in tedium. Especially when it's proving to be a nightly occurrence. How long does jet-lag last? Deep breathing, a traditionally useful technique, offers no remedy. Nor does finding a comfortable position. I wind up hungry and thirsty by 1:00am. Sometimes I'll slip into sleep for an hour or two and wake up feeling fully rested. This happened to me two nights ago. It was midnight before sleep took me. It seemed as though hours and hours had passed. Intense, almost religiously powerful dreams danced in my head for what seemed the whole night through. But when I awoke in darkness and checked my phone to see what time it was, I was shocked to see that it was only 3:00. Until 5:00 I tried in vain to sleep, only slipping into sleep briefly before my alarm went off at 6:30. The snooze button quickly turned into the stop button, and birds woke me at 9:30 when I realized I'd be late to work.
To prevent this, the next night I took a Xanax. It helped in putting me to sleep, but I felt sluggish and drowsy upon waking. This sensation lasted most of the day until I got home and wanted to sleep. Then I had the energy of ten men. The only logical explanation is that I must have picked up a parasite in Japan. A parasite that feeds on sleeplessness. On the plane to Japan I'd read a short story by Murakami about a woman who one day stopped sleeping. At night she'd drink brandy and read classic works of literature by famous Russian authors. During the day she'd run all of her errands as usual, and resume her nighttime reading and drinking. Sometimes, for a change of pace, she'd go for a late night drive and read beneath a streetlight while sitting in her car. Things went on this way for two weeks or so, until the story ended tragically as two thugs attempted to force their way into her car at the exact moment that exhaustion had rendered her all but useless. Perhaps I'm to suffer the same fate.
It's 1:05am. I've been in bed for hours but haven't yet gotten close to sleep. I'm hungry and have a slight headache. Would it be so bad if I just turned on all the lights and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and watched TV until the sun came up? Insomnia is a medical condition right? I could take a sick day tomorrow. Then, if I could keep myself awake for the rest of the day, I'd be tired by nighttime and might fall back into a regular rhythm. Unfortunately I have two friends from Australia on their way to me as I write this. Their plane is racing over the Pacific, halfway to San Francisco, and they're probably asleep. In fact, they'll likely be more well-rested than me. They're staying with me for the first few days of their journey. I guess if I can't sleep while they're here, I'll have something new to look at. Would they think that's creepy? It's definitely creepy. But what if they didn't know? The thought of someone watching me sleep is very disturbing. For a few reasons. First, I wouldn't know I was being watched. For all I know, this may have happened to me already. It could even be happening every night. Maybe that's why I can't sleep - because like a character in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, my body's finally realized it's being watched.
The second reason it's disturbing is because of how vulnerable a person is while they're sleeping. The epitome of complete and utter defenselessness. While unconscious the human body offers no resistance, to anything. It is maximally exploitable. A fact well known, and much abused by male members of college fraternities. And Bill Cosby.
A very close friend just messaged me from Ireland. He had to rush home from a long-awaited South American sojourn at the news that his father's health had taken a turn for the worse. It's a lengthy flight from South America to Ireland, with many stops and lingering layovers. His father passed while he was in transit. After a painfully long and lonesome flight home, he's been tasked with eulogizing his dad. The thought of it tears hard at the tearducts. It's a unenviable position that's easy to place oneself in, because most of us will be there some day. And what does one say? I guess you say the things that you remember. Those moments that defined and made human the person who raised you. Isn't it strange the things we might remember about them? Some memories come to be cherished and, others, forgotten. Usually without much rhyme or reason. Often it's the little things, the things they don't even remember saying or doing that stay with us the longest. Some memories, then, may be all but forgotten, yet still shape our lives and values in visible and invisible ways. We remember them through stories and photographs, videos, old birthday cards and letters, but also the little things; in the way we tie our shoes or brush our teeth; whether we fold our toilet paper or ball it up; how well we make our beds.
And there's beauty in that. Because then the end isn't the end. They are always a part of us, and not even death can take that away.
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