Falling Asleep
by: Billy Collins
Walking backwards
into a dark forest,
I sweep my footprints
out of existence
with a large
weightless branch.
As young kids, we fight sleep. I think it's because there's just too much to do, too many new things to taste, touch, smell, hear, feel. In our undeveloped minds, we think that we might miss out on something important if we close our eyes and allow ourselves to check out for a while.
As we become adults, we lose our sense of wonder at the world. All the little gifts of each and every day become . . . ordinary. Boring even. So there is less to stay awake for. Instead, sleep becomes the unknown frontier, where wonder rules. Your fingers can turn into elephant trunks. You can win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Marry or have sex with your high school crush. Attend Woodstock. Fly to the rings of Saturn. All by walking backwards into that dark forest.
Perhaps that's why sleep becomes so pleasurable was we get older. It's an escape from the daily pressures of work and family and life. We venture into the Land of Nod, brush away our footprints, and lose ourselves for a little while.
As I've said in previous posts, sleep and I have never been friends. We aren't even on a first-name basis. I don't usually close my eyes until well past midnight. Most nights, I see 1 a.m. It's not that I don't enjoy sleep or suffer night terrors. It's because my monkey brain refuses to stop climbing trees and flinging coconuts and shit at the world. I go for days on five hours of shut-eye a night, and then my body and mind will close down. I have no choice but to sleep.
I'm tired tonight. Really tired. Perhaps because I've been working on school and work crap since 7:30 this morning. Or because of Daylight Saving Time this past weekend. Or the fact that I haven't gotten more than four hours of sleep a night for about two weeks.
Whatever the reason, Saint Marty is ready to close his eyes and accept his Nobel Prize.
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