Did’ja miss me? Even just a little? Oh, come on! You were pining for something new and completely irrelevant from the Crab, weren’t you? — [Crickets]
Right. Well, I missed you anyway.
Writing, ‘twould seem, is considerably easier than RE-writing. Truly, I am loving the depth and breadth and sheer beauty/tragedy this rewriting is bringing to my screenplay. But how I wish I had a rich aunt who would just finance my life so I could do nothing but delve deep and get it done. Frustration doesn’t being to express my daily state of mind. I am tôrn between the time it takes to sculpt my masterpiece, the time it takes to sculpt my body and mind, the time it takes to dedicate to my job (a requirement for all these other things to be possible), and somewhere in there the time it takes to sleep. I tried doing this without sleep for a time and found it doesn’t work so well for me.
Recently, I read an article about a man who claims to be a “breatharian”. Yes, you read that correctly. He lives on air and has not eaten in 5 years. The logical med-student part of me is highly skeptical of this, while the artistic child in me gazes with saucer-eyed wonderment at the prospect. Wow! Wouldn’t that be something: to be able to live by processing energy from one’s surroundings! Even more exciting would be to find a way to live without needing sleep. Oh, the things I could do if I didn’t need sleep!
Of course, I’m not a stranger to insomnia. But I am hoping for a less stress-induced solution to the burden of sleep. My insomnious episodes are usually triggered by some intense stress going on somewhere in my world. Interestingly, the longest and most severe occurrence was, in fact, the very first.
Living in Spain, I was 21 years old and found myself working full-time with a partner who had a nice round set of emotional instabilities. As a result, I found it nigh on impossible to sleep at night. In the course of about 40 days, I completed a grand total of 70 hours of sleep. (Give or take an hour either way.) That’s just a little under 2 hours per night, on average. Some nights, the sandman never found me. Other nights, I actually acquired as much as 3-4 hours of semi-restless shut-eye. Much of the total sleep-time occurred during the day: little cat-naps I’d grab whenever the urge would overtake me.
Thank goodness I was young and pretty darn fit or I probably would have never made it out alive with my sanity. It was during this period that I learned how to sleep standing up… on a moving bus. Really, I became quite adept at it. (To my knowledge, no one ever snagged a photo. No blackmail pics here!) It speaks somewhat to the nature of the relationship with my co-worker that I felt more comfortable sleeping on a moving bus, surrounded by strangers, than in an apartment flat alone with her. (I made sure all the knives in the kitchen were dulled at all times.)
As a matter of fact, I designed a truck-load of T-shirts because I don’t have nearly enough else to do as a hardly-recovering insomniac. (“Sarcasm is my special friend.” Hey! Another T-shirt!) Here’s the link to my storefront, “The Crab Nebula“. If you like anything you see, go ahead and buy one… (Proceeds go toward my feature film.)
Meanwhile, chin-up and never let ‘em see you sweat. (Although, if you want to glow naturally, that’s quite another thing. Go ahead and do that. You have my permission.)