On Pondering...
I haven't slept.In a good while...
but first let me make one thing perfectly clear, when I say that I haven't slept that doesn't mean that I lie awake for more than (what is it...three?yeah.) three months now, I mean that I haven't slept in any sort of significant time that it should even be possible to function as a human being, but, I seem to be functioning at my average pace, which for me, is insane, hyperactive and manic. The level of functioning that would suggest that I am a seven year old who just got a ten pack of those jumbo pixi stix. I'm still a fully productive member of society, I'm on time and ready for work everyday (I'm a bank teller, which, if you've ever been one or known one, you are certain with me that it is without a doubt the most boring job on the planet.) If you don't know a bank teller or aren't one, here's a taste for you to settle, I'm sitting, for eight hours a day, making relatively decent pay, and I count money the whole time, keeping track of everything that goes in and out of the bank that is on my responsibility. I don't see a cent of it either, my paycheck is direct deposit. And for that, it has completly ruined any shopping trips I take anymore because by the time I get home, I don't want to see President Jackson's portrait until eight am the next morning.
Back to the not sleeping bit...
There is no logical or clinical explaination for it. My life is good, I have a lot going for me, and I'm not under any sort of considerable stress that I am conciously aware of. I'm healthy, physically, emotionally and (for the most part) mentally (again. one word to describe me: manic).
I just don't get it.
I sleep fine if I'm on my friends' couches, or hell, when I'm with other people, but, when I'm alone. It seems like those unconcious things start to catch up with me, because, when I'm alone, I begin to ponder, I begin to think.
And I stare up at the ceiling until my biological drive takes full control and I sleep for a, less than satisfying, hour and a half. I then groan, like every eighteen year old with a summer job, crawl out of bed and begin the daily routine.
I'm starting to think,
that thinking is my problem.
And, no offense to whatever religous figure (s) (or even existence in general sense) did this too me, didn't really think the whole thing through itself. Because, not thinking is more than slightly impossible. My mind can be blank but still reeling, neurons still fire at their same pace, and energy still bounces from my hypothalamus to my forebrain, and through and around the occipital lobe(s) and across the corpus callosum.
I'm starting to think,
that it sucks not being able to sleep.
posted by PomLindsay @ 12:17 PM
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