Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I have not slept more than an hour a night in three days. The backs of my eyes feel coated in sand. I'm spooked by afterimages and strange flittering movements at the edge of peripheral vision. Pre-programmed, rote activities like coffee preparation have become befuddling complications. I couldn't bear another bleary day at the Liberry catalogging books and ordering VHS tapes for the Kinesiology Department, so e-mailed my boss that I was taking off. Tomorrow we're headed to Manhattan with my folks and my niece and nephew for four days. Our assignment? En-culturate the wee ones. Our approach? Stuff them with dim sum. If I don't sleep soon I'll be shuffling around Central Park in pink flip-flops with a pinwheel taped to my hat, muttering about missing NASA film of the JFK assassination.
Julio--just back from Holland and Belgium after being just back from Italy--called and asked if I wanted to go to the Venetian painting show at the National Gallery. I'd love nothing more than to tour it with him available for discussion, but in my current state it's out of the question. Perhaps today I'll watch Tarkovsky's The Mirror--he's typically good for insomnia.
I have a sample of Ambien from my GP, but don't want to go down that road. I'd rather not sleep than pump myself full of chemicals.