You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Getting so worn down, so stressed out, so beat up, you feel like you just played rugby on broken glass.
I am tired. I feel like I could sleep standing up. I feel like I could sleep driving my car. I feel like I can sleep right now while my fingers type these words on auto pilot.
I feel like I’m laying down for the requisite number of hours. My brain is a border crossing and REM sleep is being detained in secondary inspection.
I lay in bed and summon sleep, but it is visiting someone else who has nothing better to do than sleep.
Sometimes I lay there and realize I am staring at the back of my eye lids.
It’s dark and the room is quiet.
Still, my mind is the Indy 500 of thoughts.
I am drafting behind my cerebellum at 200 thoughts per second.
Images of money and family and the tax man fly through a darkened void.
There is a checkered flag at the end of the straight-a-way but there is no finish line in sight.
Questions like what if? How come? Burn a neon hole in the darknened recesses of my visual cortex.
“Go to sleep,” I tell myself.
“Who you kidding,” my inner self screams back, karate chopping my brain in two with a spiked two by four.
And the discourse continues. It’s angry like Parliament arguing about taxing beer in the blue collar district.
I wake up and I’m exhausted. No, maybe I’m just sick. Wait, perhaps I’m losing my mind.
It’s hard to tell.
Hallucinations vary from dots on the wall to teenagers sitting on the couch staring incessently into an iphone.
Wait, I think that last thing is real. Well, maybe, who knows.
Maybe it is a combination of stress combined with being tired coupled with an angst cocktail shaken not stirred.
Have you ever had that kind of week that drains you like a leech sucking plasma through a garden hose?
I had that week yesterday.
I can’t lie. I’m tired.
I’m so tired, my eyes are open, but my brain is shut down. I am sleep walking through a long corridor. There are a row of doors, all closed, each one exactly the same. The doors are red, the knobs shiny brass. I want to reach for a knob and turn and penetrate the mysterious, enigmatic void.
But there are too many doors, and I am moving too fast.
Like a dirty highway with ugly bill boards, it’s all a blur. My senses are dull, and it’s difficult to know when to stop.
I force out my hand on and I choose a door.
I grab the handle and twist it.
The door latch makes a popping sound and the door pushes into a blue sky.
I am floating above a light house situated on the rocks of a jagged cliff.
The ocean is turbulent, slapping the rocks like an angry father beating his son.
The Light house watches the assault. The waves are relentless, ferocious.
The lighthouse is sad, but only watches.
I see a sea gull sail on an updraft sailing along the edge of the light house glass.
The tired light spins with the sporadic effort of tired pace maker.
Suddenly I am falling into the choppy, grey green sea.
I am in the water, tossed in the waves like a tired cork.
I drift under the water and it is peaceful.
I see myself sinking, holding my breath, bubbles slowly rising up around my face.
I am tired. I am wearing boots. I cannot swim.
My hands lack strength. I just slowly sink, unable to float upward.
I see the sun’s image above me, fleeting, rolling on the waves, undulating, and blurring into the darkness that is encompassing my space.
Am I asleep.
It is peaceful.
Don’t talk. Don’t ask too many questions.
Don’t let the mind’s voice know you are there.
Just rest. Dream of tomorrow, a day with endless possibilities, without a tax man, without stress, without a task master who is never satisfied.
Drift off. Try not to get sick.
Fight the good fight.
Good night.
Life’s Crazy™