Sleeping

It's sometime after three. In the morning. Susan is curled up on my love seat, somehow managing to sleep on such a tiny surface. I don't understand it. I'm the worst sleeper I've ever met. I can't do it. Sleeping eludes me to the point where I overstock boxed red wine and Unisom just because... if I didn't have either I'd be a mess. A mess.

Because as much as I can't sleep, I need it. I need sleep more than anything. Everyone's different. Who can say if my requirements of definitely definitely more than 8 hours could be attributed to some negative feature of my personality? It's just as likely it's because of something physiological (which I guess influences personality). Bigger people don't need to sleep as much. Small animals, like cats, have to nap constantly, so that their bodies can purge themselves of free radicals as they sleep. The effects are density dependent and therefore size matters. I'm very large. I am a pretty large human. I weigh one hundred and sixty to seventy pounds. I should not need to sleep as much as I do. But if I don't... if I don't...

The first time I realized I might have a serious problem was when I spent the whole night in my family room or in my bed watching late night television, then the Insomnia music video programming on MTV, and finally morning cartoons. I was around 8. It was a bad year for me. Regardless, FUCK, regardless I spent the afternoon inverting my body, making head stands, to try and quell my brain of this funny feeling. Fuck.

I just want to sleep. I want it to be forever. But there are so many things that I need to fear about sleeping. The closest I've gotten to death was while I was sleeping. You can't expect me to completely forget about waking up groggily to paramedics. My mom can't. And Lord knows she's been trying to watch over me completely, or get me a Golden Retriever that can sense hypoglycemia, or make sure I have responsible friends--for years.

What else about sleep? It's gross. When it's allergy season I snore. I hate waking up because I never wake up at the perfect time. My dreams are rarely resolved. Very rarely do I wake up because I've reached my end goal or caught up with the person I was seeking for the last dreamt eternia*. Sometimes I only wake up after my friend drives our car, drunk, into a stream. Clearly. Die. One must wake up. Don't drink and drive.

Naps are interesting, more fun. But it's nearly impossible for me to succeed if the sun is out. Goddamn fucking sun. Fuck.

I'm just angry. Because I just want to sleep. And I can't write anymore. I can't. I've sucked. I'm no longer eloquent. I fumble words. I fuck things up. I suck. I suck so much. Who gave me this mouth and who connected it to my brain? And why did I have a speech impediment? I wish I could... I wish...

*Yawn*

Pretty tired. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

*this should be a phrase, both of those words should not have red squiggly lines under them. They should not be misspelled.