The perils of wakefulness

I’m awake. I can’t explain the simple transformative power of that statement. For years I have not slept deeply. I’ve slept a lot. But not deeply. Now I am awake. I dare say I will get used to the revelation of being awake – at least I hope to have that opportunity, but who knows how long it will last? Life has a way of throwing weird and challenging spanners into my works.

So for now I revel in the unexpected, slightly terrifying intensity of waking having actually slept. Of having energy. Of facing the day without the dragging feeling that I am barely going to make it to the coffee break. Of clutching my coffee as though it is actually my lifeblood – which it very nearly has been.

Not every day, not yet. Maybe not ever. But some days, at least, I bounce. I see everything. I do everything. It’s like wearing very dark glasses and suddenly taking them off and staring into the sun. It’s like having your nervous system muted for decades and suddenly feeling the feather light brush of your hair against your face as intensely as a slap.

On those days I tear around like a crazy thing, interrupting the things I am getting done to do other things that need doing. Piling interruptions on my interruptions, because I need to do everything and nothing can wait. I am here. I am now. I can feel.

The weirdest part is the way I am now feeling everything. I see sunlight sparkling on the dew on a leaf and I am transfixed by its beauty. I am suddenly in tears for a friend who died 20 years ago, and then I am overwhelmed by the fabulousness of a four year old. I can hardly breathe with the emotions washing over me. It’s as though all of the feelings that were muffled in my somnolence are now making themselves felt all at once.

A beloved friend who lives interstate says she would like to be able to show me how to crochet in person and I am suddenly crying hot, passionate tears that we can’t spend lazy Sunday afternoons crocheting together over coffee. Which is absurd, because neither of us could sit still for that long even if we were in the same state. A favourite song pierces my heart with exquisite intensity. I can’t possibly sit still.

I want to call up my friends and tell them how much I love them.  I want to rave to new friends about how much I adore them, and find my old friends and tell them that I couldn’t live without them. I want to embrace the world, and I want to slap the parts of it that are broken really, really hard (and there are so many to choose from!). Coffee with a friend moves me to tears of joy.

Like texting when drunk, all of this is perhaps best kept safely private until I am sober – whenever that may be. I’m not drunk on alcohol (although that might help), but on sleep. I’m not sure I’ll survive it, and I don’t know how long it will last. I don’t think I can explain it. Maybe this extraordinarily altered state is why some people do drugs. But if you get any messages from me it might be wise to view them through a pair of very dark glasses. Or, what the hell, join me in my technicolor wilderness. It’s a wild ride, and there’s plenty of space!

 

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