Friday, June 04, 2004
One For The Surrealists
I've had about 15 hours of sleep over the past three days, and now I'm in this weird, happy state. Consecutive late nights always deliver me into bursts of floating euphoria during the day. Waking dream, party of 1. My perception of things isn't altered, but there are trains of thought speeding in every direction. Perhaps the 12 tabs of acid I drop every time is responsible. Who can say for sure.
After dark, though. That's different. See, the reason behind the sleeplessness is my furious late-night writing schedule as of late. Kinda feels like college when I'd stay up drinking espresso (didn't like coffee 'til grad school for some reason) and studying for an exam. Only the exam is the deadline for my play. And the espresso is beer. Add to this the isolation of my bedroom with only a continuous-playing stereo as white noise companion, plus a play that operates like a myth/fairy tale, and stuff can get a little fuzzy.
Case in point: the other night's episode when I found a roach in the bathroom. (This is definitely NOT a pot story, I swear). Past roach encounters have gone like this: 1.) I see roach, 2.) Roach instantly scurries away to its dark underbelly roach dwellings. But this asshole rose up on its gargantuan legs and sped towards me. A fucking confrontational roach! I grabbed a shoe and it hung a sharp left. Now I was chasing his ass. I swatted as it ran into my closet, ducking under a guitar case, a shoe, a hamper. I tossed all these things out one by one, and each time it got away. Finally, I had it cornered. All that remained in the closet was a small TV. I lifted it, and the bitch was GONE! The "logical" explanation is it ducked into a small crevice in the wall. To me, however, we threw down and then he magically disappeared.
A few minutes later as I lay in bed, I was convinced this whole episode meant I'd next open my eyes to a Kafka/Burroughs waking nightmare, changed. I didn't exactly picture myself as a roach, but I had visions of Kevin and John knocking on the door, and me giving them transparent excuses about why I couldn't come out. "Uh... sorry, I got the shits". All the while disguising my raspy-turning bug voice.
Thankfully, the play will be done soon.
(I didn't wake up as a roach, by the way).
I've had about 15 hours of sleep over the past three days, and now I'm in this weird, happy state. Consecutive late nights always deliver me into bursts of floating euphoria during the day. Waking dream, party of 1. My perception of things isn't altered, but there are trains of thought speeding in every direction. Perhaps the 12 tabs of acid I drop every time is responsible. Who can say for sure.
After dark, though. That's different. See, the reason behind the sleeplessness is my furious late-night writing schedule as of late. Kinda feels like college when I'd stay up drinking espresso (didn't like coffee 'til grad school for some reason) and studying for an exam. Only the exam is the deadline for my play. And the espresso is beer. Add to this the isolation of my bedroom with only a continuous-playing stereo as white noise companion, plus a play that operates like a myth/fairy tale, and stuff can get a little fuzzy.
Case in point: the other night's episode when I found a roach in the bathroom. (This is definitely NOT a pot story, I swear). Past roach encounters have gone like this: 1.) I see roach, 2.) Roach instantly scurries away to its dark underbelly roach dwellings. But this asshole rose up on its gargantuan legs and sped towards me. A fucking confrontational roach! I grabbed a shoe and it hung a sharp left. Now I was chasing his ass. I swatted as it ran into my closet, ducking under a guitar case, a shoe, a hamper. I tossed all these things out one by one, and each time it got away. Finally, I had it cornered. All that remained in the closet was a small TV. I lifted it, and the bitch was GONE! The "logical" explanation is it ducked into a small crevice in the wall. To me, however, we threw down and then he magically disappeared.
A few minutes later as I lay in bed, I was convinced this whole episode meant I'd next open my eyes to a Kafka/Burroughs waking nightmare, changed. I didn't exactly picture myself as a roach, but I had visions of Kevin and John knocking on the door, and me giving them transparent excuses about why I couldn't come out. "Uh... sorry, I got the shits". All the while disguising my raspy-turning bug voice.
Thankfully, the play will be done soon.
(I didn't wake up as a roach, by the way).
