Tag Archives: insomnia

Itchy and Scratchy

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THE EDITOR

Even when it’s right, it’s not quite.

To prod and pull and stretch and twist.

Make something out of nothing, and nothing out of less.

It’s early morning on the drill line.

No tolerance or time to spare.

You think you’re safe in solemn silence.

But the life that you keep and the way that you struggle,

Is beyond comprehension and beyond your control.

Waiting for some rescue boat in the form of clever happenstance.

Eating time with hopes and promise, days turn into years.

You teach the ones who follow, and practice what you preach.

But it’s merely substitution, and the core persists, unchanged.

Fate has been both kind and cruel.

Faith has come and morphed and left.

There’s a comfort in your chaos, in the head that just won’t sleep.

But there’s a stopwatch for every system,

And they all count down to nil.  —original poem, c. 2010

Everything must sit neatly in a distinct mode, layout, structure, etc., to feel right, comfortable, or acceptable. I wiggle and edit and shake and switch until the puzzle pieces align. Like a scratchy wool sweater, I yank at the sleeves and twist the collar until the seams fall into place.

It all starts simple and harmless enough: exchanging shoes because the insole slightly rubs a toe the wrong way; remaking a bed three times because the sheets aren’t equidistant from the edge of the frame; returning five different pairs of glasses until finally finding arms that can rest on the ears in a particular angle as to not disturb headphones; endlessly researching the origins of every product, ingredient, chemical, additive, or cleverly hidden component to ensure it’s nontoxic, vegan, cruelty-free, natural, sustainable, and organic.

Then things start to get REAL specific. The systems, habits, and unbreakable routines function like a panic-inducing, swiftly falling Tetris line. One ill-conceived, hasty move or simple incautious step, and life tumbles in on itself like a Jenga tower.

The upside is ultimately arriving at precisely the energy, mood, temperature, lighting, music, feel, meal, time, position, or product I’ve painstakingly targeted.

The downside is a kind of constant manic discomfort and inability to settle or rest.

So, yeah…it’s not great.

Adolescence Interrupted

Next Lap/Last Lap

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Every day is a borrowed bet that it’s not the final one.

As we walk the familiar path of looking back at yesterday to plan for tomorrow, it’s important to realize that no minutes or months are guaranteed. We assume the ritualistic rising sun affords us a constant opportunity to embrace a clean slate and start anew. Regardless of the mistakes and indiscretions that spurred our insomniac nights, a fresh morning canvas stands motionless in the middle of the room, floating in the nebulous space between inspiration and regret.

But what if that sun doesn’t surface?  What if tomorrow never arrives? What if yesterday was the end of the song?

The tired, clichéd advice to “live each day like it’s your last” is a hackneyed platitude…until it’s true. But the irony remains. We couldn’t embrace that lap because we never knew it would be the last. Now the hourglass is empty and we don’t have time to sweep up the sand.

Whether due to erratic geopolitics, super viruses, tragic happenstance, or our own free will, this past year may have been our curtain call…even if we were prematurely pushed out in front of the audience, unprepared for the bow.

There is an incredibly fragile balance constantly at play between nature and society, and we ride this edge of an eggshell crack existence desperately hoping the precarious shaking of the scales doesn’t suddenly shift and forever knock us off our trajectory.

We are fools to believe a ship’s sails will only be propelled by favorable winds, but it might be wise to recognize a perfect line when it presents itself. There isn’t always a patient second opportunity waiting in the wings, so cross your fingers and carpe diem.

Adolescence Interrupted

There Will Always Be Monsters under the Bed

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They will continue to wait, whether we remember to check or forget to inspect. On bended knees, our eyes remain peeled for a glimpse of anything unusual sitting on the planks. But it’s pointless to pretend the floor is clear. They were hiding there last night and last year. They’ll be back again tomorrow…and forever.

The nagging knocking behind the eyes that keeps us awake. The sense that we are barreling toward the inevitable edge. The lists of boxes that remain unchecked. The threat of impending doom. The planet on the verge of collapse. The infighting. The declining educational system. The poor. The sick. The sad. The struggling. The confused. The hurting. The hurt. The loop stuck on a loop. The dubious distrust. The fear. The uncontrollable variables. The time. The schedule. The appointments. The wasted opportunities. The cost. The consequence. The imbalance. The chasm. The loss. The hammer. The nails. The virus. The variants. The worry. The wonder. The sense that any plan must be penned by our own hands. The inattention to intention. The lack of air. The lack of breath. The search for courage. The responsibilities. The falling hourglass sands. The questioning. The projecting. The diet. The disease. The swing. The strike. The call to action. The answer. The bruises. The blood. The tightrope walk. The guns. The drugs. The laws. The disconnections. The deleted lines. The money wearing masks. The trust split into pieces. The rankings. The rancor. The voices. The voiceless. The hardened. The heartless. The abusers. The abused. The race toward a constantly drifting finish line. The ridicule. The neglect. The bottom line. The ringing. The spinning. The tension. The waves. The shortened fuse. The easy ignition. The order. The angles. The criticism. The denigration. The obsessions. The compulsions. The rigid routines. The punishing patterns. The reaching. The rejection. The shooting star wishes for a second chance at another lap.

There will always be monsters under the bed.

Be a scarier monster.

Adolescence Interrupted

A Point of no return

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A stopwatch thumb clicking down to zero. We are hurtling toward an impossible recovery window, and the fate of the future rests in the hands of the next anointed leader of the free world.

Partisanship aside, that’s a terrifying concept. If we slide our chips to the center of the table, is the action anything more than a clenched-jaw “wing and a prayer” blindfolded dart toss?

Stakes are impossibly high, and we are sprinting along the edge of an unfinished bridge. Hands clasped tightly over ears, there is an absurd reluctance to embrace the inevitability of fate beneath the towering mountain of science playing the crucial part of a canary in the coal mine.

So do we choose to be silent observers or screaming warriors? Should we take a pass or take a swing? Regret is a nasty little rash, so some active engagement might prevent a life of head-swimming insomnia or a ceaseless swarm of butterflies in the belfry.

Sitting on the sidelines is not an option when the planet’s very survival hangs in the balance. Unfortunately, the countless species of creatures who continue to be affected by the savage stripping and polluting of their homes still lack the opposable thumbs needed to pull those levers in a voting booth.

They’re counting on you to do what’s right. We all are.

Adolescence Interrupted