I have attempted to develop a normal
sleeping pattern for the last 18 years, and I fail every night. 18 years worth
of nights. I used to lose sleep because of nightmares, and now I waste waking
moments on the same notions. Yet, now the nightmares are personal. I actually
know these monsters. They are Freudian, and according to Freud, I am shit.
Sleep has occupied so many of my waking
moments that I may as well be dating it. I claim to have no time for a boyfriend,
but I am married to this sick obsession with my slumber. Since these thoughts,
therefore, will probably be the only things to stay with me forever and into my
twilight years, I should be fairer to them. They don’t betray me, after all, as
a boyfriend would. They are reliable, as a boyfriend may not be. So, now I turn
to this nasty companion. I’m sure we’re in for another terrible and eventless
evening.