March 13: "Falling Asleep," Sense of Wonder, Nobel Prize in Literature

Billy Collins catches 40 winks . . .

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.

October 27: Halloween Poetry Reading, Thomas Lovell Beddoes, "Dirge"

Let me apologize for my absence yesterday.  I was giving a Halloween poetry reading at my local library.  Then I was drinking beer at a local microbrewery.  By the time I got home, I was in no shape to compose anything.  I barely made it past ten o'clock without falling asleep on the couch.

The reading went well.  There were many people--family, friends, and a few strangers.  Those strangers became friends after a few drinks.

Busy weekend ahead.  Writing.  Reading at a Halloween show.  Working on a teaching narrative (yes, that is as awful as it sounds).  Tonight, however, I plan to relax and watch a couple episodes of the second season of Stranger Things.

Saint Marty has a nice Halloween poem about ghosts and graves for tonight . . .

Dirge

by:  Thomas Lovell Beddoes

We do lie beneath the grass
          In the moonlight, in the shade
     Of the yew-tree.  They that pass
          Hear us not.  We are afraid
               They would envy our delight,
               In our graves by glow-worm night.
Come follow us, and smile as we;
          We sail to the rock in the ancient waves,
Where the snow falls by thousands in the sea,
          And the drown'd and the shipwreck'd have happy graves.

December 8: A Happy Ending

For those of my disciples who are curious about my daughter's birthday sleepover, I can tell you that we had one guest, a really nice, polite little girl.  My daughter was more than excited.  We had frozen pizzas--one plain cheese and one bacon cheeseburger.  Then we had ice cream and cake.  My son immediately fell in love with "Gabby," and Gabby let him sit on her lap and play his LeapPad 2.

Then I took the girls to see a movie, Wreck It Ralph.  Not my first choice, but it was my daughter's birthday party.  I fell asleep about half-way through the film and woke up when the credits started rolling.

When we got home, the girls played some games on the Wii, and I sat back and watched the joy on my daughter's face.  It was a really good night, all 'round.  No drama.  No tears.  I told my wife we had to invite Gabby over more often.

Saint Marty loves happy endings, even if they do involve going to movies he didn't want to see.

I love it when a plan comes together