the ungodly hour

I should be in bed. Dreaming. Or at least trying to. It’s one of the reasons I’ve put off having children – I’d rather have sleep. But I’m not getting any. Insomnia does not rock.

When I was ten I went seven months not sleeping Sunday through Thursday. I’d snooze fine on Fridays and Saturdays (Exhaustion maybe?) but the rest of the time…

I’d go to bed at the usual hour. Lay in the black until everyone else was down for the night. Then I’d crawl from my bunk into the bathroom where I’d sit and stare at my toes and go over Pacman strategy for 7 hours. When my dad’s alarm went off at 5am I’d sneak back in bed and pretend I was there all along.

I had trouble in school that year. Saw the principal for for a lot of things I didn’t do – didn’t remember doing anyway. I mean, you’re ten years old and you don’t sleep for four days straight…by day five you’ve gotta be feeling pretty out of it. Who knows who you make fun of on the playground or accuse of having lice in the girls toilets.

Anyhow, my teacher figured something was up. She just didn’t know what. I think she thought I was on drugs. I know she thought I was peddling pornography (I had a crush on Rembrandt and brought a photocopy of his Danae to class…bible belt, whatcha gonna do). The parents got called a few times.

I remember going through episodes of heavy confusion that year. Standing in the gym, watching the room flip upside down. Seeing a giant black dot on top of Bo Duke’s head. Feeling like I was stuck in a vortex of swirling pre-pubescent ants. I hallucinated a lot. Seriously. In college I spent three weeks on third shift as a Subway Sandwich Technician and had some pretty heavy trips. Because: