Into the Night

It'd been a long night and I'd gotten none. Well, I'd gotten some. But it wasn't good and it wasn't enough. Sleep! I knew the consequences. They were not pretty: nerves jangled, brain rattled, teetering on the edge.

I'd sailed through the previous evening, cocky, arrogant: of course I'd be able to sleep. WROnnnnnng.

Reclining in bed in the dark, I drifted, feeling my mind going . . . going. Absurd mental images were a sure sign that I was going over the edge into unconsciousness. Yup. THERE they were: I saw a computer screen. On it seemed to be book titles. Yes! I was writing a horror novel! The Burning.The Glowing.The Digging. EeeekK! Cliches all. Then a last title: The Sleeping!

'Ha. FOOL. IDIOT.' The imagery told me. 'You were on the verge of sleep. You allowed a self-conscious reference into your drifting. Now you are AWAKE! BWmmmmmm hahahahaHA!' it said.

In left fetal position I once again drifted, almost there. I could feel my mind once again begin to release. "Woof!" barked my bichon. It was just one woof. But one badly timed woof is all it takes to slam me into tense consciousness.

Insomnia almost always precedes unusual dreams, when I finally sleep. The night's imagery would be of a Steve Buscemi Film Festival/Roast. I'd sat in the first row.