And I’m afraid to sleep because of what haunts me,
Such as living with the uncertainty
That I’ll never find the words to say which would completely explain
Just how I’m breaking down
Sleeping Sickness – City and Colour
(This is what happens with I write with out direction.)
There’s so much that I’d like to say to you. With my regular indulgence in a late night cuppa coffee, comes the inevitable caffeine induced insomnia. Tossing and turning, the words and thoughts come easily. Too easily, when all I want to do is shut the world out.
I think about how I could be spending THIS time productively. I could be reading a book. Fear and loathing on the campaign trail? To kill a Mockingbird? I must have read this book half a dozen times already, yet it never fails to captivate me.
Of course, instead of reading a book, I could be writing one. THE ONE, as I often jokingly refer to it.
None of these thoughts actually spurn me into action. Instead, my fingers will nimbly reach over and locate the iPod on my dresser. Adjusting rapidly to the eerily glow cast by the iPod on the darkened room, my eyes will search for the City of Angels soundtrack. For the first few minutes, I’ll focus all my attention on following the crescendo of the violin. Classical music will lull and calm me, and sleep will come. Or at least that’s the idea.
But before long, various scenes from the movie will flood my head. I’ll think of the scene just before Meg Ryan dies. Meg riding her bicycle, head turned up to the sky, hands spread out wide. Meg hopeful.
I’ll think of Nick Cage’s monologue: “I rather like one touch of her hand, one smell of her hair, one kiss of her lips, than living in eternity without it!
I’ll think about the scene where Nick’s character, Seth asks her to describe the taste of a pear. And as I think about this scene, I’ll wonder if Meg ever read a passage from Earnest Hemmingway’s novel to him. I’d never been a huge Earnest fan but there’s something so incredibly … sexy about someone reading to another. Or at least to me, it’s sexy. It’s sexy because there’s a type of vulnerability and hopefulness attached to it. Hope that THIS someone will simply get it. Will get just why you love THIS book, THIS passage. That occasionally you’ll find yourself reading something so beautiful, it leaves you wistful, awed and defenceless.
And I’ll think about all this before sleep ever arrives.