Have we collectively become more sleep-deprived these past few months or is it just still us, the usual suspects — the insomniacs, the night owls, the creators, the brokenhearted…?
These Drowsy Notes are a documentary of one of those sleepless nights.
Five hundred twenty-four notes, what’s another one? 4:40 a.m. on the clock and heaviness in my eyes. A news article made its way in my brain about sh*t I couldn’t care less about (I like to pretend). My stomach in crumbles, dinner was a mango and I couldn’t stop thinking how my mom would scold me…like a child.
Already a working hour for some, this very early morning. The silence of dawn sometimes has voices and they rest in my ears spewing their poison. Why, at this time, must I start worrying about the color of my toenails or the sound of the front door against the metal or my 14k or something unread emails? Sleep on it, I say, save your troubles for the morning.
Sluggish, but the bladder is impatient. A faint reflection of sunrise wants to creep through my curtains at 4:55. How delicious interrupted sleep must feel at five in the morning, when you’d be too REM’d to know it (if you were a normal). But normalcy went out the window six months ago and incertitude is the new standard.
Now 5:10 in the morning and the air is too loud; the sheets are too hot; the room is too dark; the speck of light, too bright; the clock went too fast; the sorrows came back… But the soft music on my phone promises a smooth transition back into idling, until next time — tomorrow at dawn, perhaps?
Here’s to 525 drowsy notes. Good night.
