Slumber
Every night, just before I want to sleep, I have a sudden urge to work on something. Whether it’s catching up on the unfinished or starting the countless ideas, I want to do it. But my body is tired. Some nights I push through and work. Most nights, I submit to slumber.
When I was in my twenties and teens, slumber could wait. These days she has a firm grasp tugging at my lashes. I love to rest. But once I wake, my mind is a tornado of to-do’s. My list encompasses buried art projects, that next great business idea, the last song I heard from the night before, an unfinished bed design, another way to lose weight, an urge to write music, another reason either for or against getting an iPhone, smut, how I want rearrange my living room, bills I can’t pay, and everything spoon+fork.
I lack the kind of discipline I once had to achieve all of these tasks. And I blame slumber—my slumber…me. At one time, if i wanted to do something, I just did it. Now my body speaks for me and I hate it. It tells me to do nothing. It tells me to sit there. It tells me to Facebook. It tells me to eat. It tells me to scratch my nuts. And the worse part is that I do it sequentially. It’s so sad that I can’t even multitask at doing nothing these days.
As my 33rd approaches, I must tackle this dilemma before it tackles me. Tomorrow I begin.
