Sleeping Like a Poorly Written Simile—A Mimicked Metaphor

I cannot sleep. The only way I can describe what I am feeling is to say that I am feeling “jerky.” No, it’s not like the freeze dried meat that you buy at the local Stop & Go, but like the actual motion. Some might call it twitchy, but it is more than just simple twitchiness, where a person cannot keep still. My body is actually physically jerking as it lay at rest. I would like to think that this is because there is too much traffic on the freeways of my thoughts, but that’s just it. There is nothing but idle silence. Like a television with its volume turned all the way down, nothing but empty air fills my consciousness and it may be what is unnerving. It’s just a shoulder jerk this way, a head jerk to the right, a leg jerk outward and grimacing jerk look the next. And it is all keeping me from slumber. Perhaps, because of this silence and because of the idleness within my mind, I cannot find peace and fall asleep, though I am so very tired.
Chris once told me the meaning behind the Bad Religion song, Generator (written by Brett Gurewitz), and I cannot help thinking of that now as I sit at my desk contemplating just what went wrong as I tried to fall asleep tonight. Much like Brett’s answer to the lyrics meanings that when someone walks into room with the air conditioning unit on, they will not notice it on because there is a constant humming that drones on into the unperceived background noise. But when the machine is turned off, then the person can and will notice the machine because of the absence of noise. They notice the space that was once filled and is now gone.
I am in no way thinking that my trivial attempt to explain my manner of apnea is shape the same as Brett’s rapturous attempt to unveil the relationship between God and mankind, but I am saying that there may be something I can extract from it. The noise that I am used to hearing, my thoughts whooshing around at a million miles per hour, while I eventually lose myself slowly in the deep of it, is not playing tonight. Nor are the many differing story plots that play themselves out in my head there either. My worries and frets, what I need to hand in tomorrow or which paper needs to be finished next, are no longer there. What is left is nothing. I have nothing. And for some reason, there comes no rest assurance from that notion, only the missing of it. I do not feel comfortable in my nothing. I need the hustle, the strain, the suffering, and the dreaming of sorts to fall asleep. I am uncomfortable in comfort I guess.
I dunno. I really do not have much to say about it after that. These thoughts are quite depressing and perhaps that is enough to jumpstart something up in the old noggin when I once again climb the stairs. Yet, I know just like the last few times I have already followed this set sequence, I erroneously found out different. Here’s to hoping that idleness never greets you as a bedfellow, because I know that cold footed bitch is awaiting upstairs for my return.
Peace out peoples,
-sib-