A good day

Yesterday was another disco ball moment. Have you ever stared at one while it spins in the dark? An effervescent glow surrounds the globe while rogue shards of light are slashed, splintered, and shattered across the room; melodic, hypnotic, organized chaos with flashes of brilliance piercing the shadows. Monday was that kind of day.

I tossed and turned the night before—I was having my usual struggles with sleep. A moment of clarity came at 8AM, two hours before my alarm was supposed to go off. I was dragged to the kitchen by my stomach; the call of pancakes was too difficult to ignore and my body was too exhausted to resist. With elegant dexterity (from God-knows-where), I whipped up a fluffy, golden batch, and with equal maladroit I greedily gorged on each one, piece by honey-soaked piece.

I knew the day was going to be a good one. I could think. I could feel. I was going to have a normal productive day. Bursts of lucidity allowed me to work, but sleep claimed me again at around noon.

Sometimes I feel as if I observe myself too closely.

I woke up. I ate lunch. I worked. I emailed. I blogged.

Right after dinner I was ambushed by a migraine wielding a high-speed jackhammer. It pounced silently from behind and started drilling from the base of my neck to my right eye. Jelly bean lights danced across the walls of my room. Sleep was my refuge. Another day ended just as I thought I was getting the hang of it.

But sleep is a fickle friend. I woke up at 2AM just in time for the re-run of HOUSE. I bawled like an idiot. I could fall in love with Hugh Laurie, even with an American accent. Okay, I’ll even take the wimpy, spineless, half-evil Australian youngling.

I am bearing my solitude calmly than usual. In the dark, I go on endlessly trawling (trolling) the streets of my head for hours on end and never meeting anyone—not even myself