Right now I feel sick.
I have dizzy spells. Hallucinating out of the corner of my eye. Colors blend together without an explanation as to what shape has just disappeared. I walk up a flight of short stairs, and instantly my muscles are achy and tender. Not to mention I so happen to be short of breath. I’m fatigued. I feel nauseous. I’m antsy like a pansy, full of jumpy nerves as I try to entertain the world and myself with jokes, laughter and puzzling thoughts. Or my favorite pulling the kind of energy only a full raging yellow cheese bus with school children can. Except I do it out my ass ever so dearly. If, a person didn’t know any better they would presume I’m fucking pregnant. And I can assure you I’m not.
But what the fuck is going on? There are times when my appetite suffers. There are even more times when it sky rockets. My good old bastard friend who nobody desires like Cortisol..the Ghrelin Monster appears. My body craves for sugar in the way a man fancies to release the tension coming from his snug testicles. The inside of my mouth becomes dry like a woman who hasn’t received enough foreplay. I’m lightheaded as a case of fasting (or depending on one’s perspective) intentionally starving oneself. And I wish this would all go away.
I don’t know what it is about sleep I don’t like beforehand. I like dreams. Both Lucid or Wet. They symbolize something deeper than what my conscious can ever imagine. Yet there are a few things I know about sleep that makes it gloriously friendly such as: Sleep being beneficial like breakfast or an Unlimited Metrocard in New York City. Sleep helps the body fight, recover (muscles) and heal illnesses. Sleep keeps your body’s metabolism working correctly. Sleep is the real milk where it does the body good. The True Lifesaver; the one thing that probably could never ever do your body harm. For Christ Sake you can die heavenly right in peace with sleep. I believe not a thing in the world can beat that. Or could it? Sweet natural death.
So, why do I have problems getting to bed? Even when I fantasize about my plush toys, one too many fluffy/rigid pillows, fan blowing my hair like a supermodel at a significant shoot and the protection between the four walls of my room with a comfy mattress that has lovingly accepted every fluctuation of my chameleon body shape. Why is it so hard for me to creep into bed and just FUCKING sleep? Is it due to the noise in my head? How gifted the commotion comes to life like Killer Clowns from Outer Space? I’m not sure. But one thing is certain with me. Once I close my eyes and try to breath all the troubles into the seams of my blankets I’ll remain greedily asleep as long as my body needs.