Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Sleep no more!

I've never been a very sound sleeper—at least not for the last twenty some odd years—but the past week or two have been especially bad. Even with prescription intervention, I've been averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night for the past week. Yes, I've been keeping track. My doctor asked me to keep track when he wrote me the script.
Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast,
So Friday I had a good day at work. I left my desk just before eight, feeling relaxed. Somewhere in the fifteen or so minutes it takes me to go from my desk to my home, an unnatural rage overtook me. I'm not an angry man by nature. True anger is a rare emotion in me. Rage? Rage is a completely unnatural emotion for me.
What do you mean?
Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:
'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'
When my emotions get the better of me - when I don't know how to react to them, I go into lockdown mode. I stay in as much as I can stand, and communicate with as few people as possible. This past weekend I spoke to two people; the person I ordered some food from at the late night movie I went to, and the security staff when I went in to work on Sunday.
Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go carry them; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.
That helped, and Monday went well...
I'll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on't again I dare not.
Until I didn't really get much sleep on Monday night. Overnight the rage returned. Luckily I was able to take today off.
Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
For it must seem their guilt.
Rage... I don't get it. It's unbecoming. Frustrating.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Truth suffers from too much analysis.

Have you ever realized something... and then felt like a fool because in hindsight this is something you should have know—probably have known—all along. Really, it's quite obvious.

I'm not terribly good at making friends. I'm not terribly good at maintaining friendships.



The post title is an "Ancient Fremen Saying" from one of the Dune books.