Another night with no sleep.
Was it Keats that said restlessness breeds many woes. Or, was it conscience that does it? I'm too tired to remember. I have a red-eye flight tonight, SF to NYC, which will leave me in pieces if I don't get some sleep before or during that. It is travel anxiety that becomes sleep anxiety. I've never handled it very well. Well, it has become worse over time.
Now, I sit at work, a husk of self.
I am tempted to go to a friend's house and try to get some sleep. I will be a nervous wreck if I can not sleep on the plane. I already feel quite brittle, unable to communicate. I am startled at any sudden sound. It is no good.
I wish that I had something clever to say about the condition, but nothing has arrived. It dulls the mind but heightens the sensibilities to an unnerving degree.
It seems so easy, to just stop thinking and let the body slip into its hold, to drift inward without recognizing the point of departure. It makes no sense that the mind would race as it does, fleeing the one thing that could perhaps calm it the most.
.
