Insidious Insomnia

I‘ve had insomnia ever since I can remember.  No matter how weary, how tired, how strung out, how exhausted I was, as soon as my head hit the pillow, my eyes would clap open and stare, as big as saucers and my “cogwheels” as my mother called them, would be fully awake and working, working out daily and/or metaphysical problems which no-one could solve but God. The size and importance of them is, I see now and saw then, a playing with time, a pastime which I’d never asked for and begged for years to be released from.  Insomnia is a waking nightmare; the darkness visible; eyes wide open in the dark–and it’s incurable.  It’s impossible to trick insomnia, to bypass it, or to coax it into an acceptance or obedience to the nocturnal need to close one’s eyes comfortably in the dark (the sun gone walkabout somewhere under the equator)…  

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