There’s two kinds of sleepless, I thought- can’t sleep because of overscheduling, and can’t sleep because of overthinking. I do tend to overthink- certainly that plays a role in my life. But it’s usually the first kind- too many demands chasing too few hours, causing me to walk around in a semi- aware haze. I have, blessedly, seldom been unable to sleep- being able to drop off, nearly on command, has proven an asset, as well as a detriment to family life or long, complex films.
Sleep, when it comes, comes in a rush like an orgasm. You’re not sleeping-you’re inside your head, thinking, tracing the action in the room with your ears, then suddenly you’re gone. It’s fundamentally frightening-you have your consciousness, which is really everything you are, yanked away, and whole blocks of time just vanish. I guess that’s why I hate it- that, and the vague badge of honor sleeplessness brings in modern society. It’s a way to say, “See how hard I’m working?”
There is a horrible ripping noise above my left shoulder, metal being torn and burned, and a shower of sparks, some of which land on my pants. They glow on my motionless legs for a moment, then wink out. An Irish face fills my field of view. “We’re going to get you right out of there, sir,” he says with a flat voice.
“No problem,” I say, tangled in the wreckage of my car. “I’m not going anywhere.”