Going to Bed

I can feel it, the pull of the pillow. From across the room, it's calling me, that bed, drawing me closer with a couple precious hours of sleep, promising respite from this nagging life with it's soft tempurpedic kiss.

Napping as a surrogate for working or panicking is not something that's new to me. I sometimes wonder if I'm teetering on the edge of sanity, brokering drawn out conversations with the various part of my body on strike, taking intermittant coffee breaks in the negotiating with a quick doze in the middle of the day. I work from home so these mid-day z's are not a problem, the only foreman I have is myself and both he and I have been very happy to put any worthwhile action on hold for a few glorious hours, every couple of hours. I can feel it now, that buzz, making me wonder if it's actually there, or I'm actually crazy. Perhaps if I slept for a few I'd wake and it'd be gone. Perpahs the swirling fuzz of my dreamstate will give me perspective on my irrational runaway psyche. Perhaps all it needs is some more rest...

I'm not happy that this is the way I deal with most crisis, but if CNN broke in informing me that a comet was headed directly for me my gut reaction would be to sleep for a few and maybe it'd all have been a dream when I woke. At the very least when I was jostled from my slumber I'd have a couple of airy minutes between waking and sleeping where anything is possible, even my own salvation. And having shaken away my sleep, forced back into the maze of bills and rent and grinding on and on seemingly for the sake of grinding on and on, I can again pull the plug on consciousness and drift back into my dreams - the only place I feel completley whole, away and above my tempermental flesh.