Why is that? Why? Why do we always ask "why?" Sometimes there's an answer, sometimes there isn't. We can blame that on the Tao of Why.
Good old Wikipedia defines "the Tao" as "the intuitive knowing of 'life' that of which cannot be grasped full-heartedly as just a concept but known nonetheless through actual living experience of one's everyday being." Um, yeah. That's just useless, W; if I wanted whacked-out poetry, I'd get out some e.e. cummings and chow down, scratching my head through it all and asking myself what the fuck I just read before starting over.
At any rate, some things can't be answered, and when you're stumbling about on five days of less than 3 hours of sleep, your brain really starts churning out some wild shit. Like, am I waking up because someone or something was in my room and willed me awake? (That would freak me out, especially because my husband was on travel all week.) Did some smidgen of my subconscious, astrally projected out into the wild black yonder that is my lucid dreamland, instinctively know about that earthquake in Chile yesterday and came flying back to tell me about it, thus awakening me from slumber? Was it just trucks downshifting on the highway that reached my inner ear through the layers of cottony semi-coma? (BTW, I really hate FedEx for their damned jake brakes.)
Why?? Why couldn't the faceless phantom or subconscious beastie wait until the alarm went off? Couldn't you for cripe's sake just have waited a couple more hours, and hit me with this after I was already up, so I could stagger to the bathroom and stare at my frumpy morning self blearily in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened? Nope. The Tao of Why will not allow me to grasp the concept, remember. I have to be awakened with this in the middle of the night.
What's even better is when you get a brain dump and your cerebrum happily starts downloading song lyrics, news reels, and Jimmy Carter spewing useless rhetoric, all tangled together in an incomprehensible sailor's knot of sound and light, and then you remember some job you forgot to do at work, which you immediately start trying to solve while Taylor Swift blathers through her latest song (probably singing backwards) and cats and gummy bears dance ballet around you in purple tutus. This is not the shit you want happening when you're trying to get back to sleep. But yet, this has been my life for the past five nights. I can't even blame it on alcohol.
| Go, brain. Run away, you're fucking DRUNK. |
Why?
No answer, except, "just because." A piss-poor answer, but it'll have to do because nothing else will fit. Damn you, Tao of Why. You're right.
"Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die." Well, thanks, Lord Tennyson. What I'll do is take some Nyquil and hope I get some sleep tonight. Maybe the next blog will make much more sense. Never write when you're tired, folks. It makes Alice in Wonderland look like frickin Ghandi.
To sleep, perchance to dream...just not about tsunamis and gummy bears, please. Sweet dreams, all.
-- Becca
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