Ode to unconscious joy

I live for sleep now. I’d like to live for something else but nothing is as sweet as sleep. Lately I’ve been sleeping a solid 8 hours a night and then getting a nap or two in after work. At other stages of my life I’ve wrestled with restlessness. My first bout of depression followed a two month stretch of insomnia when I was 18.

On the cusp of adulthood, just a few months from graduating from high school and with a girlfriend for the first time, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep. It was the beginning of a torturous pattern that would plague me consistently for weeks and then intermittently throughout the rest of my twenties. I could be so tired I’d fall asleep instantly at 9 pm. But then I’d wake up three hours later and spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.

So now I cherish sleep and seem to be better at it. Smoking weed helps. It’s the only remaining benefit of smoking. In the old days when I’d smoke I’d play guitar or basketball or explore nature. It used to be social. I’d smoke with my friends and we’d talk nonsense but it was fun. It’s no longer social or productive. Now I get high and browse hate forums and watch youtube videos. They’re all the same.

Smoking makes it easier to sleep, so I keep smoking. Because I love sleeping. I dream of sleep when I’m awake and also when I’m sleeping. I don’t want to be dead because then I’d have no memory of sleeping anymore. You have to endure the bone grinding torment of consciousness to enjoy the paradise of nothingness. But being dead will be great too. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not in a hurry though.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

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