insomnia was always a complaint whose credulity I had in question until I really suffered from it myself. insomnia was equated with being desperate for attention and simultaneously too uninteresting to earn it other than by ruffling any feathers within reach about a negligible, trifling condition... sort of like carpal tunnel, irritable bowel syndrome, or bisexuality.
I haven't slept save for a few fitful winks on virgin america flight 12 to jfk in two days. though I am exhausted and my muscles are slackened in such a way that my body is melting over the sides of an orange velour couch in brooklyn like a modern day dali painting, sleep is still vaguely out of reach. of course, I am fatigued beyond my wildest nightmare, but my brain's activity will not calm to anything less than the frenetic beating of hummingbird wings. am I nuts?
don't answer that.
this morning I was so nervous about the trip, and having trouble explaining myself. it wasn't the flight itself, or even the intimidating grids of new york streets that are not yet committed to memory. part of it is the excitement of all of the dear ones that I will get to see while I'm here, old and new. the largest part by far, I've realized, is that taking off to do something for me to feed my spirit and give me hope is the first major step towards independence for a long time. when I told lydia how much this trip meant to me she considerately warned me not to harbor too many expectations or I'd be disappointed. I'm already thrilled, just with getting away from san francisco. maybe I'll make it here, after all.
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1 comment:
It makes me so happy to read this. Enjoy it all, feel alive.
xo
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