It’s been at least two weeks since we’ve moved into our new non-air conditioned apartment and I’ve yet to sleep underneath any covers.
But tonight, I’m not sure whether it’s the heat or my insomnia that’s keeping me awake.
After wrestling with my pillows like they were agitated alligators, I make the biggest mistake that someone trying to fall asleep can – I look at the clock.
In a futile effort to avoid glancing at the crooked numbers lit up by my iHome, my left eye catches the time over the wrinkles of my pillow covers – 3 a.m.
Phew, it’s not as late as my latest night, and maybe, I’ll get to avoid seeing the sunrise.
By this time my ice pack, which was originally designed to help heal my sprained ankle but has been recently used as a MacGyver-style novelty coolant, has lost its chill.
It wasn’t until I got up to turn my fans down a couple of speeds that I realized it was my thoughts, not my brick apartment’s greenhouse effect, that barred the Sandman from my room.
So I rolled over and let out a long, exasperated cuss word at my inability to turn off my mind. As it turns out, the only place I have yet to conquer is the one between my ears.
If I did it or said it, you can bet I put too much thought into it.
A text message coming from my phone more often than not undergoes at least two revisions before it’s sent. As for my writing, it’s an all-day affair.
That’s not to say I’m not genuine; just take this column for instance.
My propensity to entertain a million different scenarios, a billion different actions and a trillion different consequences in my myriad of neurons didn’t reach its maximum potential until this summer when I was left in Erie with few friends and frequent free time.
Too much time with your own thoughts is dangerous.
It isn’t until around a quarter after 3 that I catch myself studying my past as an over-thinker – I’m now over thinking about being an over-thinker.
Awesome.
At this point, I string together a slew of profanities directed at none other than my own mind.
While it allows creativity to come almost as second nature, it can’t stop for more than a few hours a night.
The same mind that allows me to make friends with nearly everyone I meet still finds a way to give me the yips when it comes to talking with the opposite sex.
Despite being blessed with deft intuition, my mind is cursed with the ability to out think instinct.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said that every mind must make a choice between truth and repose and it’s painfully obvious which one mine selected.
My iHome now tells me its 4 a.m. but it doesn’t feel a minute past midnight.
My eyelids won’t shut down shop for the night until the combination of time and my iPod’s sleep playlist finally flips around their “closed” signs.
A smart decision by my mind, for tomorrow is another battle against itself.
