Insomnia, Em, and a Respite
Fri. 7:48p…Insomnia still. I never realized what a mean thing it could be. I slept three and one half hours Monday night.
Tuesday—nothing. Not a single wink.
Wednesday—climbed in bed with Em at 11:30p. Watched the clock until 2:00a. Saw it again at 2:15a, 2:40a, 3:00a. I got out of bed at 5:15a. In between, I got up three times to investigate “noises.”
I am paranoid and jittery. My eyes hurt. My skin aches. Hot flashes. So, unless I am menopausal, my mind and body are simply battling the demons I can’t give voice to. Also, I’ve learned that with no sleep comes an absolute lack of appetite. It progresses from a “don’t want to eat” to a “can’t eat.” Everything within sight becomes unappetizing.
It is amazing, I’d say, the thoughts and questions that invade a man’s head during such times. I find myself considering man’s propensity for violence most often. Strange for me, but somehow comforting.
09.10.05 …With the above comes a gnat’s attention span and ability to complete a thought. So it is now some 24 hours later.
I was nonfunctional and so took yesterday off work to try to rest. I did sleep about five hours so that was good. Parts of the day follow: Having worn the same pair of contacts for six weeks, I went to the eye doctor for new ones. $45.00 later, I left with three month’s of mediocre sight. From there, I lumbered down Highway 70S, turned left on Old Hickory, found Sevier Brothers, and priced tires for the fading Jeep. The freshly head-shaven, tattooed guy who dealt with me, was about as patient with me as one with a child who doesn’t really like children yet feels guilty about it. With alignment and bottom of the barrel tires, I am looking at $514.00. Pocket change, Baby! I carry that kind of scratch in my bra.
From there, I actually went to a Firearms store (or Gunshop) on Charlotte Pike. Me. I priced handguns. Not to worry though. I can’t afford a Glock 9mm. And truth be told, I would never be comfortable having one around with Em in the house. But I looked, just the same.
From there to Green Hills. I was thirty-five minutes early for Jim Jarmuschs’s Broken Flowers. The movie was a fraction of what I wanted it to be, yet still wonderful. I like me some Bill Murray. The guy is a fucking treasure.
…So M. bought a house. Along with D., I helped him move today. M. has long been my single contact in Bellevue. And while we rarely take advantage of proximity, I will miss him. Gallatin seems like a country away to me. But, of course, it is not. I am very pleased for him. Buying a house is a big thing. It is a good move for him.
…My Boy is in Boston since Thursday and I miss him. But I am pleased for him to have the experience. Last I spoke to him he was tooling around Boston Harbor on Uncle P.’s boat. Good for him. It is a grand harbor with a remarkable view. I love Boston and I love that he does too. His words to me were, “Hello, Daddy! Happy Birfday! I love you! I saw a whale!” Apparently, Boston Harbor is lousy with whales. Leave it to Emerson…
Since I still have no appetite, I figured the thing to do was grill a T-bone the size of my head (and add a baked potato). I managed five bites of the steak and ½ the potato. I am a notorious glutton. What gives?
…09/11/05… I slept some last night. And I’ve eaten better today. I sat at Daltons for awhile and partook of offered draughts and Woodfords.
Before that, I watched my Titans play a miserable game.
I am now on the porch. It is mild out—very comfortable. I’ve relit the remainder of last night’s mammoth birthday cigar—what Kinky Friedman would call a “dead soldier.” And it is exactly as Winston Churchill once described the re-lighting of a cigar—“a little gamey.” It is. It is gamey and satisfying. I will finish the La Flor Dominicana of gargantuan size and follow it with a CAO Gold Double Corona. The CAO I will see to completion.
The sky is a blue now that defies description as it fades to night. The Gloam, I call it. It is my most pleasurable part of the day and its perfection is second only to my Boy. How I miss him today. I have spoken with him four times and each time he has been preoccupied—as you would expect a three-year-old to be. To him, so far away, I am but a distant voice. To me, he is sustenance. His return is marked for 4:45p tomorrow, and I anxiously await it. It occurs to me that I rely far too heavily on him for my own happiness. And I am sharp enough to recognize the infinite unfairness of that. It is part of my duty as a father to withhold that knowledge from him. I fear I do not do a very good job of that sometimes. That is an unfair burden for him to bear. But it is fact. Although he is as intuitive as a person five times his age, I will strive to keep this from him his whole life. There is some knowledge from which no good can arise. I pride myself in holding to that.
That being said, I look forward to his return tomorrow.
…I plan to take a break for now. Two, maybe three weeks. Time enough to get my head together and end this betrayal of self of being so personal in this forum. I have stories to share and I hope to work them up: My encounter with spiders at the Washington zoo; Em calling me an asshole in the doctor’s waiting room—all smile and innocence; my take on a particular day; betrayal and the like.
So, until then, whether one week or five, I bid you adieu. I will return, rested, svelte, sober in thought, and with stories to share.
Insomnia free.
Tuesday—nothing. Not a single wink.
Wednesday—climbed in bed with Em at 11:30p. Watched the clock until 2:00a. Saw it again at 2:15a, 2:40a, 3:00a. I got out of bed at 5:15a. In between, I got up three times to investigate “noises.”
I am paranoid and jittery. My eyes hurt. My skin aches. Hot flashes. So, unless I am menopausal, my mind and body are simply battling the demons I can’t give voice to. Also, I’ve learned that with no sleep comes an absolute lack of appetite. It progresses from a “don’t want to eat” to a “can’t eat.” Everything within sight becomes unappetizing.
It is amazing, I’d say, the thoughts and questions that invade a man’s head during such times. I find myself considering man’s propensity for violence most often. Strange for me, but somehow comforting.
09.10.05 …With the above comes a gnat’s attention span and ability to complete a thought. So it is now some 24 hours later.
I was nonfunctional and so took yesterday off work to try to rest. I did sleep about five hours so that was good. Parts of the day follow: Having worn the same pair of contacts for six weeks, I went to the eye doctor for new ones. $45.00 later, I left with three month’s of mediocre sight. From there, I lumbered down Highway 70S, turned left on Old Hickory, found Sevier Brothers, and priced tires for the fading Jeep. The freshly head-shaven, tattooed guy who dealt with me, was about as patient with me as one with a child who doesn’t really like children yet feels guilty about it. With alignment and bottom of the barrel tires, I am looking at $514.00. Pocket change, Baby! I carry that kind of scratch in my bra.
From there, I actually went to a Firearms store (or Gunshop) on Charlotte Pike. Me. I priced handguns. Not to worry though. I can’t afford a Glock 9mm. And truth be told, I would never be comfortable having one around with Em in the house. But I looked, just the same.
From there to Green Hills. I was thirty-five minutes early for Jim Jarmuschs’s Broken Flowers. The movie was a fraction of what I wanted it to be, yet still wonderful. I like me some Bill Murray. The guy is a fucking treasure.
…So M. bought a house. Along with D., I helped him move today. M. has long been my single contact in Bellevue. And while we rarely take advantage of proximity, I will miss him. Gallatin seems like a country away to me. But, of course, it is not. I am very pleased for him. Buying a house is a big thing. It is a good move for him.
…My Boy is in Boston since Thursday and I miss him. But I am pleased for him to have the experience. Last I spoke to him he was tooling around Boston Harbor on Uncle P.’s boat. Good for him. It is a grand harbor with a remarkable view. I love Boston and I love that he does too. His words to me were, “Hello, Daddy! Happy Birfday! I love you! I saw a whale!” Apparently, Boston Harbor is lousy with whales. Leave it to Emerson…
Since I still have no appetite, I figured the thing to do was grill a T-bone the size of my head (and add a baked potato). I managed five bites of the steak and ½ the potato. I am a notorious glutton. What gives?
…09/11/05… I slept some last night. And I’ve eaten better today. I sat at Daltons for awhile and partook of offered draughts and Woodfords.
Before that, I watched my Titans play a miserable game.
I am now on the porch. It is mild out—very comfortable. I’ve relit the remainder of last night’s mammoth birthday cigar—what Kinky Friedman would call a “dead soldier.” And it is exactly as Winston Churchill once described the re-lighting of a cigar—“a little gamey.” It is. It is gamey and satisfying. I will finish the La Flor Dominicana of gargantuan size and follow it with a CAO Gold Double Corona. The CAO I will see to completion.
The sky is a blue now that defies description as it fades to night. The Gloam, I call it. It is my most pleasurable part of the day and its perfection is second only to my Boy. How I miss him today. I have spoken with him four times and each time he has been preoccupied—as you would expect a three-year-old to be. To him, so far away, I am but a distant voice. To me, he is sustenance. His return is marked for 4:45p tomorrow, and I anxiously await it. It occurs to me that I rely far too heavily on him for my own happiness. And I am sharp enough to recognize the infinite unfairness of that. It is part of my duty as a father to withhold that knowledge from him. I fear I do not do a very good job of that sometimes. That is an unfair burden for him to bear. But it is fact. Although he is as intuitive as a person five times his age, I will strive to keep this from him his whole life. There is some knowledge from which no good can arise. I pride myself in holding to that.
That being said, I look forward to his return tomorrow.
…I plan to take a break for now. Two, maybe three weeks. Time enough to get my head together and end this betrayal of self of being so personal in this forum. I have stories to share and I hope to work them up: My encounter with spiders at the Washington zoo; Em calling me an asshole in the doctor’s waiting room—all smile and innocence; my take on a particular day; betrayal and the like.
So, until then, whether one week or five, I bid you adieu. I will return, rested, svelte, sober in thought, and with stories to share.
Insomnia free.
posted by Ryan at 11:58 PM
11 Comments:
Alas, it seems I must carry on this betrayal of self of being so personal in this forum without you.
Broken Flowers hasn't reached my outpost yet, I think traffic is still heavy in this neck of the woods for The Dukes of Hazzard. Well, a little something to look forward to.
Oh fuck. Double fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. (That felt good I guess.) Don't forget, changing your mind is not a sign of weakness. In fact, I just decided, it is a sign of great courage and strength...and intelligence!
Later!
Don't leave us! Or leave us, but come back. But most of all, be well and healthy.
Rest well friend.
It will be too quiet around the blogosphere without your posts, Ryan. Hurry back. - Scr.
You'll be missed!
I have my own bouts of insomnia every couple of months, and they will someday drive me down that short street of sanity I have remaining.
But maybe then I will enjoy them.
Just one thing to say:
Take care.
OK, one more thing.
Please come back when you're ready.
I hope all is well with you and Em, Ryan.
Thanks for the recent "check-in," Hamel. Things are going OK. I hope to begin posting again within the next couple weeks. Hope all is well on your end.
Ryan
I'm a huge fan so youmight like canine lymphoma
Remember Larry Brown?
He's been gone a year. I miss him as much today as I did when I wrote this essay for the Cleveland Plain Dealer late last year. It outlines the delicate links between Brown, "Leaving Las Vegas" and me.
O'Brien on Brown
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