Insomnia is a greedy bitch

She has the ability to give out sleep the way dentists give out cute stamps of flowers or bees just for the unnecessary pain they’ve caused – and just having to deal with twenty-four hours of general organized chaos you’d think I’d be rewarded with a few blissful hours of sleep. But she just won’t give in and I’m tired of begging by getting into a practiced position and pretending. Because that’s all we ever do – pretend to sleep, at least for a good half an hour. Do you ever think how it looks like a fire drill exercise – without the queuing up nicely and waiting to have your name called out? Or maybe the bitch calls our name when it's time to find peaceful sleep and hands out tickets - okay, my number is 34213 and it's on 10921 so I've got to wait until every punk kid finishes masturbating over his Mandy Moore poster and finds her again in the dream 4x4 pick up he'll never drive before it's my turn to doze off. We just automatically get into bed and close our eyes, as if waiting to be beamed up or something, pretending to be engaged in an act that promises dreams and hopes for the next time you wake up and run around just to end up in the same spot, wishing for the same dream again. I miss that dream. Even though I usually don’t remember it which is probably more the fault of my stupid alarm clock that still goes off at 9am for reasons unknown just to hear the voice of some arsehole deejay that’s just pretending that he’s awake and really interested in making me interested. Shut up and play some good music for once. If I wake up to the sound of Britney Spears one more time…

By Hanna Ali

Copyright November 2005