The unkindest cut

Narcolepsy: A disorder characterized by sudden and uncontrollable, though often brief, attacks of deep sleep, sometimes accompanied by hallucinations. If someone finds a better word for the complete opposite of insomnia, do let me know. Maybe I should suggest calling the band that. I have not been able to stay awake beyond the wondrous hour of 10 for the past week and a half. And to think I used to stay up till 5 and go to class after a round of basketball with the departed cronies. And to think the guys who used to marvel at my ability to survive on 4 hours sleep now surpass me at it. The ignominy!

I watched Seabiscuit when I went home this time. Lovely movie. Reminded me of Black Beauty. Except that this really was a piece of work for kids and adults alike. Saga of oblivion, recognition, fame, misfortune and rising above the odds to prove something pretty profound to the world. Black beauty, on the other hand, I would NOT recommend to any kids I know. That book has got to be one of the most morbid in the history of children's literature. All I remember from it are scenes of gore- flanks being cut by the whip and, mouth being torn by the bit, mothers being taken away, colts given away to cruel masters. There is no respite from the cruelty that is portrayed. I don't know if this impression of mine is entirely accurate, but I think the fact that this is what stayed says something. White Fang, Call of the Wild... these do put the animals through suffering, but they are nowhere as graphic and disturbing as Black Beauty. And the dedicate at least quarter of the book to happiness and contentment. If children's books cease to be feel-good, something is very wrong with our world.

After a magnificently unproductive day, when I was about to fall asleep last night, I wondered why when I woke up in the morning, it didn't seem like a new day at all. I wake up at 7 and go on a walk not with any glorified hopes of becoming the fittest 20 yr old on the planet, but because anything else would make it seem like it was the previous night. Bums me out to no end. At least the silence and the blankness outside clears my head, cleans the slate. To some extent, at least. There is nothing to separate one day from the next. Nothing to tell me that you are a day closer to the weekend, or a day farther away from an unhappy episode... ten hours of sleep is no demarcating line between today and tomorrow, between total sloth and maniacal industry. Because the 24, 30, 48 whatever hours go by in a kind of leisurely, unstructured haze. There. My daily quota of cribbing is taken care of, now no one will have to be put through that in person. Off to dreamland again on the pretext of a headache. Go easy on me, O cousin of death.