Every night is a struggle to clock in at least 8 hours. This is one of those ordinary nights wherein I toss and turn and can't sleep at night, it's worrying me (yeah, I know it sounds familiar). This is a blow-by-blow account of the struggle of an insomniac.
9:00pm - I get ready for bed. Wear my pyjamas. Clean my face, brush my teeth. I fluff my pillows. Straighten my bed covers and lie down. After 10 minutes, my eyes refuse to close. My mind goes over what transpired during the day. Just like a director shooting a scene that does not make the grade, my mind goes" "Take 1. OK! Not good enough. Take 2 then. What if I did this instead of doing that?"
9:30pm - Sleep does not come. I am beginning to turn to an impatient suitor.
9:45pm - I reach for my book. Right now, I am reading another one by Isabel Allende. I am on the last few pages of Zorro.
10:00pm - My eyes are drowsy. I am beginning to fall asleep. The letters swim before my eyes. The book falls off my bed and I am off to dreamland.
1:30am - I wake up. Look at my watch. I try to figure out what time it is. One hand points at 6, while the other points at 1. I don't see which is the long hand and which is the short hand. The dim light makes it hard for me to figure out. I check my phone instead. Shit! It's 1:30am.
1:50am - I try the breathing exercises I read from Cory Quirino's column.
Inhale . . . . Hold for 10 seconds. . . . . Exhale. . . .
2:00am - Still, the exercises don't work. I am starting to feel the tension. I need to sleep, damn it! I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow. (or is it today already?)
2:10am - Desperate, I get up. Turn the lights on and reach out for Zorro again. I finish the novel and start to see the pattern in all of Allende's novels. Well, authors would always have that recurring theme and/or characters in their novels. The character who refused to speak after a traumatic event (House of the Spirits; Zorro). The house/mansion with so many rooms and interesting stories (House of the Spirits, Zorro; My Portrait in Sepia). John Grisham would always have the Mafia as a backdrop for his novels. Erich Segal with the struggle of the Jews, the Hitler era and modern-day America.
2:30am - I scribble my random thoughts in my journals. My writing does not follow a logical pattern. No theme stands out. I give up and stop writing.
3:00am - Is my fellow contract worker still awake? Should I chat with him? Well, he's been too aloof lately. He might not reply. Or maybe he's fast asleep. The Hamlet question: "To text or not to text...."
3:15am - It's November. Just a few more months. Just a few more days. I am halfway with my Saipan adventure. Everything has been pretty good so far.
3:30am - Tick....tock....tick.....tock.....tick.....tock.....
3:45am - I close my eyes real tight. Pull my blanket over my head. Lie straight like a stiff cadaver. I try to recite the mantra....."Let go of all thoughts and relax...."
4:00am - The pressure heightens. I think of all the work I have to finish tomorrow. Please God, let me sleep. I remember an acquaintance who told me that he could sleep for 14hours straight. I get envious of his "talent." Sleeping is his way of coping with homesickness he said.
4:30am - tossing and turning......tossing and turning....tossing and turning....
5:00am - I lose another battle. I give up. I just hug my pillow and remain in bed. I still have 2 more hours before my get-out-of-the-bed time.
5:30am - My eyes remain closed. My mind wide open. Planning. Thinking. Wishing.
6:00am - Tick.....tock.....tick.....tock....tick....tock....
6:30am - The neighbors come alive. The radio at unit S-29 is on. I hear someone frying something. The kids are up.
7:00am - Stretch......stretch.....stretch......
7:30am - Time to get up. Brush my teeth. Prepare my sandwich. Choose what to wear. My body doesn't feel rested. My eyes are red. I look like a stale fish.
7:35am - My grilled cheese sandwich is done. Time to take a bath.
7:50am - Dress up. Wear my office outfit. Fix my hair. Put a little blush on my face to hide the I-lost-another-battle-with-insomnia look. Dash my eyes with a few colours. A little lipstick. Off to work I go.
8:00am - I am in my car. Listening to some mushy songs from a Martin Nievera CD while driving. I sing along real loud to vent out my frustration.
8:30am - I sip on my brewed coffee. Take a bite on my sandwich while checking my e-mails. I am ready for another day in the corporate jungle. Tonight would be another battle. I hope I'll have my 8 hours. I am looking forward to getting it. I am hoping against hope.
9:00pm - I get ready for bed. Wear my pyjamas. Clean my face, brush my teeth. I fluff my pillows. Straighten my bed covers and lie down. After 10 minutes, my eyes refuse to close. My mind goes over what transpired during the day. Just like a director shooting a scene that does not make the grade, my mind goes" "Take 1. OK! Not good enough. Take 2 then. What if I did this instead of doing that?"
9:30pm - Sleep does not come. I am beginning to turn to an impatient suitor.
9:45pm - I reach for my book. Right now, I am reading another one by Isabel Allende. I am on the last few pages of Zorro.
10:00pm - My eyes are drowsy. I am beginning to fall asleep. The letters swim before my eyes. The book falls off my bed and I am off to dreamland.
1:30am - I wake up. Look at my watch. I try to figure out what time it is. One hand points at 6, while the other points at 1. I don't see which is the long hand and which is the short hand. The dim light makes it hard for me to figure out. I check my phone instead. Shit! It's 1:30am.
1:50am - I try the breathing exercises I read from Cory Quirino's column.
Inhale . . . . Hold for 10 seconds. . . . . Exhale. . . .
2:00am - Still, the exercises don't work. I am starting to feel the tension. I need to sleep, damn it! I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow. (or is it today already?)
2:10am - Desperate, I get up. Turn the lights on and reach out for Zorro again. I finish the novel and start to see the pattern in all of Allende's novels. Well, authors would always have that recurring theme and/or characters in their novels. The character who refused to speak after a traumatic event (House of the Spirits; Zorro). The house/mansion with so many rooms and interesting stories (House of the Spirits, Zorro; My Portrait in Sepia). John Grisham would always have the Mafia as a backdrop for his novels. Erich Segal with the struggle of the Jews, the Hitler era and modern-day America.
2:30am - I scribble my random thoughts in my journals. My writing does not follow a logical pattern. No theme stands out. I give up and stop writing.
3:00am - Is my fellow contract worker still awake? Should I chat with him? Well, he's been too aloof lately. He might not reply. Or maybe he's fast asleep. The Hamlet question: "To text or not to text...."
3:15am - It's November. Just a few more months. Just a few more days. I am halfway with my Saipan adventure. Everything has been pretty good so far.
3:30am - Tick....tock....tick.....tock.....tick.....tock.....
3:45am - I close my eyes real tight. Pull my blanket over my head. Lie straight like a stiff cadaver. I try to recite the mantra....."Let go of all thoughts and relax...."
4:00am - The pressure heightens. I think of all the work I have to finish tomorrow. Please God, let me sleep. I remember an acquaintance who told me that he could sleep for 14hours straight. I get envious of his "talent." Sleeping is his way of coping with homesickness he said.
4:30am - tossing and turning......tossing and turning....tossing and turning....
5:00am - I lose another battle. I give up. I just hug my pillow and remain in bed. I still have 2 more hours before my get-out-of-the-bed time.
5:30am - My eyes remain closed. My mind wide open. Planning. Thinking. Wishing.
6:00am - Tick.....tock.....tick.....tock....tick....tock....
6:30am - The neighbors come alive. The radio at unit S-29 is on. I hear someone frying something. The kids are up.
7:00am - Stretch......stretch.....stretch......
7:30am - Time to get up. Brush my teeth. Prepare my sandwich. Choose what to wear. My body doesn't feel rested. My eyes are red. I look like a stale fish.
7:35am - My grilled cheese sandwich is done. Time to take a bath.
7:50am - Dress up. Wear my office outfit. Fix my hair. Put a little blush on my face to hide the I-lost-another-battle-with-insomnia look. Dash my eyes with a few colours. A little lipstick. Off to work I go.
8:00am - I am in my car. Listening to some mushy songs from a Martin Nievera CD while driving. I sing along real loud to vent out my frustration.
8:30am - I sip on my brewed coffee. Take a bite on my sandwich while checking my e-mails. I am ready for another day in the corporate jungle. Tonight would be another battle. I hope I'll have my 8 hours. I am looking forward to getting it. I am hoping against hope.
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