So just a couple minutes ago, I read Adam Young’s blog post and absolutely loved it. I feel the urge to share this, due partially to the fact I can relate immensely.
On February 7th, 2011 by Adam Young
I am always awake.
An insomniac by definition, I was the kid who fell asleep LAST during slumber parties, not because I wasn’t worn out from the given Saturday’s well-organized neighborhood Nerf war, but because I was naturally cursed with the inability to sleep. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember and the grass stains on my knees never guaranteed me a sound night’s sleep as a kid. Perhaps this was a positive thing during elementary birthday party overnighters because that meant I was always the maestro plotting malicious pranks to play on my sleeping buddies, and was thus never the victim of such antics.
It’s a funny thing. Even now I often find myself wide awake staring at the ceiling, and when the Ambien runs out, it seems as though all I do is toss and turn. However, a wry irony lurks within such sleepless nights by which my restlessness ultimately becomes the fuel for all sorts of dreams — consciously wakeful though they may be.
For instance, music.
Last night I was inflicted with a classic case of intense artistic inspiration fed by cold, sterile insomnia. Such a conceptual thought contains so much irony, one might require a tetanus shot. Despite any such treatment, the ailment is altogether chronic and incurable BUT it may be the very reason by which I’ve unearthed such elusive, yet stunning beauty within such malady.
It’s rather a simple system:
01. I wake up.
02. I go about my day.
03. Everyone goes to bed and I’m not tired.
04. The hour grows very late and I deliberately climb into bed.
05. I toss and turn.
06. My mind wanders and suddenly I’m inspired.
07. I run to the studio.
08. The sun comes up.
09. My eyes finally grow heavy and I stumble back to my room.
10. I doze off for perhaps two or three hours.
It’s a vicious cycle, but one I sincerely would not trade for the world. I admit it seems paradoxical for a pacifist such as myself to be in favor of such incongruity, but for what it’s worth, I am of the opinion that most of what has been created, envisioned and conceived over the course of my short career is largely due to this conundrum.
It is during such nights when sleep and I cannot bring ourselves to meet that I am most inspired to dream, discover, explore, create and imagine. So it isn’t all bad.
By the same idea, the alluring light at the end of the tunnel can often flicker and burst forth into a hideous freight train hurtling in my direction.
Some nights I close my eyes and drift off somewhere between dreams and reality — into subconscious territory where I’m not exactly wide awake, but I’m not sleeping like a rock either. It’s a middle ground, mid-doze, between consciousness and slumber, an abstract reverie where I can see, hear and feel everything around me but cannot control what happens. During THESE nights I must prepare for anything because there is no telling what can happen.
Sometimes I’m yanked back into reality by the most nightmarish threads of illusion, dreadful night terrors that leave me out of breath with a lead hammer pounding inside my chest. Sometimes I feel myself fighting out of fear, clawing my way through a veneer of restless sleep that covers me like a film, yet I cannot manage to slice my way through the thin layer of leathery nightmare. Sometimes I wake up missing an old girlfriend, gripped in a painful swirl of miserable heartache — as if old wounds were suddenly reopened and I’d been through the terrible break-up all over again.
Of course this is all very unpleasant information and is thus, a rather depressing note to end a blog entry on.
However, I delight in the mere fact that being a dreamer often exempts me from the rules of reality and her consequences, be they good or bad — and I love how dreams propel the mind of an artist into imagining what the world might be like if such dreams were in fact reality. It’s a compelling thought and it keeps me on my toes. I love that.
All this to say — when my heavy lids finally surrender to the weight of any given day’s worth of living, breathing, working, doing and being, I savor the moment with a vigorous (though slightly reticent) taste in my mouth because, as I’ve mentioned before, there’s truly no telling what might happen. You must be ready for anything.
Reality is a lovely place but I wouldn’t want to live there.
Thus was one of my smiling points of the day, he never ceases to amaze me.
Live long and prosper, Tori Lynn’