When I sleep, a sandy crust forms between my upper and lower eyelids and at the corners of my eyes. I wake to the sensation that my eyes—glued shut by sleep-devils while I rested—were targets for permanent closure. This is not a lifelong experience. It has taken place for only a year or two, coinciding, I think, with the time I have been at war with my body. So, it could be attributable to chemo drugs. Or I might have accidentally stumbled into vapor emitted by an angry witch…isn’t that stuff supposed to cause optical crustaceans? Hmm. The sense when I wake is a bit like having barnacles clinging to my skin. Whatever it is, it really doesn’t matter. There’s always some new malady attracting my attention, trying to distract me from my chief complaint. The other annoying affliction I find particularly disturbing at the moment is the intermittent feeling that a steel spear dipped in lemon juice remains lodged in my middle-right chest; but I’m getting used to it. No, it’s not really that bad. I just tend to over-dramatize. But the sandy eyes…that’s real…and annoying.
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The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.
Sophocles
It’s a sad man my friend who’s livin’ in his own skin and can’t stand the company.
Bruce Springsteen
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Except for the nightmares (night terrors, some call them), sleep is a fabulous refuge from unpleasant intensity. From stress. From perpetual assured mental strain. From irreversible discomfort. Properly prepared, though, one can enter a sleep state with the knowledge that it will accompany a pleasant fantasy. Once there, though, that state can go haywire, becoming what seems to be an eternal circle of Hell. Or so I’ve heard…been told…seen.
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Speaking of sleep, it’s time for another nap.
