You fall down onto your pillows and think that this is the night that you’re going to fall asleep right away. This is the night that rest will come easy and you’ll be counting sheep before anything bad can happen, and before your mind hijacks that plan and has it’s way with you while you’re straightjacketed to your pillows and an unwashed bed comforter.
Sleep is an escape. Waiting for sleep is a therapy session gone wrong, with the bedroom ceiling as an uncaring psychologist who’s got you locked in a death gaze.
You can get over mistakes you have made. Dwelling on them is unhealthy and you know that from all of the books that you’ve read on the subject. But when it’s late at night and sleep hasn’t found you yet, all those mistakes come running back with their feet clad in jackboots to remind you that they exist and to kick at parts of your brain that make your chest hurt.
So you stare at the ceiling and feel sorry for yourself. Which probably isn’t healthy. Nobody likes a victim of his or her own mistakes. Ownership and acceptance is just a hard thing to come by when the sun is down and the white noise of the nearest highway is your only soundtrack.
Dawn is a welcome refuge.
