TOMORROW I AM TIRED
Tonight I am tired. Actually, I suppose it is morning now, so I shall revise. Tomorrow I am tired.
I know, dear reader, you are about to complain of my grammatical indecency there, my mixing of tense or whatnot, but believe me; I can tell. It is one of those nights that will inevitably continue into the wee hours of morning, lingering on through the rest of the day despite whatever efforts may be put forward.
I know these nights well enough at this point in my life that I am quite aware that forcing sleep is futile. If it will have me, it will come, otherwise there are always things to do.
I also know, am quite sure, that tomorrow I am tired. These nights, which used to be the cornerstone of both my academic and social lives back in the days of my youth with my vim and my vigour and my long-flowing mane of hair. They came two, three in a row, piece of cake, not a problem. Heck, that was what kept me going; sleep deprivation became its own little drug bringing along little endorphin rushes at the extremity of my fatigue. But this, dear reader, is now. The little pumps that pushed those hormones seem to have grown weak, or perhaps have taken a vacation from my aging body. Who knows?
It isn't that I don't want to sleep; of course I do. I am here in E________ with the lovely wife in the bedroom, safe, warm, comforting. But here I am with you, or rather with myself using you as a surrogate for talking to myself as the minutes tick by on the clock over there.
I don't know why I am awake, or to be more precise, why I cannot go to sleep. I am awake precisely because I can't sleep, but that still leaves me with why. I do not feel particularly anxious – no more than the usual baseline. I do not have any great problems looming over me. As odd as it may seem to hear this from me, but the world is good at the moment.
So, here I sit tonight, as it grows later and later. My brain remains in that same oddly humming fuzz it was in a couple of hours ago. I neither grow more tired, nor more awake. I simply jitter here in this odd state of in between: slightly droopy, slightly twitchy. At least I can be pretty sure that this shan't last for the days on end it used to, that tomorrow night I will gladly curl up in bed with a book and a duvet, the wife beside me, and I will sleep. Tomorrow night there will be cherubic slumber.
But tonight I cannot sleep. Therefore, I know, tomorrow I am tired.
I know, dear reader, you are about to complain of my grammatical indecency there, my mixing of tense or whatnot, but believe me; I can tell. It is one of those nights that will inevitably continue into the wee hours of morning, lingering on through the rest of the day despite whatever efforts may be put forward.
I know these nights well enough at this point in my life that I am quite aware that forcing sleep is futile. If it will have me, it will come, otherwise there are always things to do.
I also know, am quite sure, that tomorrow I am tired. These nights, which used to be the cornerstone of both my academic and social lives back in the days of my youth with my vim and my vigour and my long-flowing mane of hair. They came two, three in a row, piece of cake, not a problem. Heck, that was what kept me going; sleep deprivation became its own little drug bringing along little endorphin rushes at the extremity of my fatigue. But this, dear reader, is now. The little pumps that pushed those hormones seem to have grown weak, or perhaps have taken a vacation from my aging body. Who knows?
It isn't that I don't want to sleep; of course I do. I am here in E________ with the lovely wife in the bedroom, safe, warm, comforting. But here I am with you, or rather with myself using you as a surrogate for talking to myself as the minutes tick by on the clock over there.
I don't know why I am awake, or to be more precise, why I cannot go to sleep. I am awake precisely because I can't sleep, but that still leaves me with why. I do not feel particularly anxious – no more than the usual baseline. I do not have any great problems looming over me. As odd as it may seem to hear this from me, but the world is good at the moment.
So, here I sit tonight, as it grows later and later. My brain remains in that same oddly humming fuzz it was in a couple of hours ago. I neither grow more tired, nor more awake. I simply jitter here in this odd state of in between: slightly droopy, slightly twitchy. At least I can be pretty sure that this shan't last for the days on end it used to, that tomorrow night I will gladly curl up in bed with a book and a duvet, the wife beside me, and I will sleep. Tomorrow night there will be cherubic slumber.
But tonight I cannot sleep. Therefore, I know, tomorrow I am tired.
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