3.17 a.m.
This is turning out to be one of those nights.
You know those nights... when you've gone to bed at a decent hour (10.00 p.m.) and you tell yourself, finally, you're going to crash into bed and wake up at a decent hour tomorrow morning (7.00 a.m.) . And you're going to have a normal routine and work out and eat a proper breakfast.
But then you wake up all of a sudden and its 2.47 a.m. And you try and close your eyes quickly, hoping your brain didn't catch on that you're kind of awake. But its too late then, and you're awake. And you're transported out of unconsciousness. You find yourself lying in bed listening to your own heartbeat in your head in synchrony with the clock by your bedside that sounds so much louder when your mind is occupied with nothing else.
And you try and close your eyes in the faint hope that you might drift off again. But it doesn't work and now you've just got to pee. So you get up and now, its not just your mind that's awake, but also your body.
And since you're up, you might as well see whats on TV. But, oh, you have no TV. So you try to read a book. But your hands don't have THAT much energy to hold up a book. So you think you might switch on YouTube and look for stuff. But that requires typing and why warm up the muscles into a wake state when you're trying to sleep. So you just lie there with your eyes closed and think of different inconsequential things.
Like why someone hasn't returned your phone calls and what the hell is going on with that kinase assay and what if you don't like your new lab mates or worse, what if they don't like you and how will you keep in touch with all the people you know and will they drift away from you, just like you drifted away from everyone who left and what are all the things you wished you'd told your mom before she died and what are all the things you want to tell your dad before his time is up, and what would happen if you just left without updating your data and folders and would anyone notice or care, and what if you got a pet, a dog or a cat, who would you find to feed it and take care of it, if you ever went away on weekends and what if you were rock climbing and the harness was okay and the belayer was strong but the rod around which the rope was strung just suddenly cracked into two, would you come crashing down and die alone or would you also kill the belayer who was anchored to the floor?
Yeah stuff like that.
And somehow every thought weaves into the next and you open your eyes every half hour or so and that reminds you of the grandfather's clock that you had when you were growing up, that struck every hour (3 times 3 a.m., 4 times 4 a.m.) and once every half hour, so you could keep track of how long you'd been thinking. How you miss that grandfather's clock and how it must be gathering dust in some corner of your old house next to all the memories. You wonder who's winding that clock up these days and how often does one miss a news program or a cricket match because someone forgot to wind it up.
And then you watch as a sliver of light appears from between the curtains and holds on for dear life on the opposite wall and moves slowly, like it doesn't want to be seen and then makes it way across the room as the sun stretches and yawns and wakes up at a decent hour to follow its daily routine.
You know those nights... when you've gone to bed at a decent hour (10.00 p.m.) and you tell yourself, finally, you're going to crash into bed and wake up at a decent hour tomorrow morning (7.00 a.m.) . And you're going to have a normal routine and work out and eat a proper breakfast.
But then you wake up all of a sudden and its 2.47 a.m. And you try and close your eyes quickly, hoping your brain didn't catch on that you're kind of awake. But its too late then, and you're awake. And you're transported out of unconsciousness. You find yourself lying in bed listening to your own heartbeat in your head in synchrony with the clock by your bedside that sounds so much louder when your mind is occupied with nothing else.
And you try and close your eyes in the faint hope that you might drift off again. But it doesn't work and now you've just got to pee. So you get up and now, its not just your mind that's awake, but also your body.
And since you're up, you might as well see whats on TV. But, oh, you have no TV. So you try to read a book. But your hands don't have THAT much energy to hold up a book. So you think you might switch on YouTube and look for stuff. But that requires typing and why warm up the muscles into a wake state when you're trying to sleep. So you just lie there with your eyes closed and think of different inconsequential things.
Like why someone hasn't returned your phone calls and what the hell is going on with that kinase assay and what if you don't like your new lab mates or worse, what if they don't like you and how will you keep in touch with all the people you know and will they drift away from you, just like you drifted away from everyone who left and what are all the things you wished you'd told your mom before she died and what are all the things you want to tell your dad before his time is up, and what would happen if you just left without updating your data and folders and would anyone notice or care, and what if you got a pet, a dog or a cat, who would you find to feed it and take care of it, if you ever went away on weekends and what if you were rock climbing and the harness was okay and the belayer was strong but the rod around which the rope was strung just suddenly cracked into two, would you come crashing down and die alone or would you also kill the belayer who was anchored to the floor?
Yeah stuff like that.
And somehow every thought weaves into the next and you open your eyes every half hour or so and that reminds you of the grandfather's clock that you had when you were growing up, that struck every hour (3 times 3 a.m., 4 times 4 a.m.) and once every half hour, so you could keep track of how long you'd been thinking. How you miss that grandfather's clock and how it must be gathering dust in some corner of your old house next to all the memories. You wonder who's winding that clock up these days and how often does one miss a news program or a cricket match because someone forgot to wind it up.
And then you watch as a sliver of light appears from between the curtains and holds on for dear life on the opposite wall and moves slowly, like it doesn't want to be seen and then makes it way across the room as the sun stretches and yawns and wakes up at a decent hour to follow its daily routine.
posted by khal at 8:17 am
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