17 March 2009

Sleepless Boundaries of Time

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This is where the descent begins. Around 8:00 p.m. I start thinking I’ll go for the hot bath and early bedtime. Around 9:00, I think well what’s another hour? 11:00. Well, okay, as long as I’m in bed by midnight. Gosh, is it 1:00 a.m. already?

I keep seeing and not seeing the time as it clicks by. Perhaps that’s because the “time for bed” voice is being shouted over by another voice, the one that says I need to finish this next step, I simply must finish the project I set out to do for this calendar day, which my brain is convincing me I can stretch past the 24-hour limit imposed by stronger forces than mine.

I am task oriented rather than time oriented. That seems to be at the heart of the problem. I have in mind the tasks on the day’s agenda, not the tally marks of the hour. And even as I realize during the shrinking of the day, that most of the items will have to be tossed overboard, I cling all the more tightly to the remaining two or three, dragging them through to completion, by golly, one way or another. Let something be accomplished today! I will not be defeated. I will not.

A typical scenario. I’m catching up on administrative duties on a forum I co-moderate, or trying to finish a graphic image, or preparing a batch of photos to post on Flickr. Meanwhile, whenever I pause to hunt for a word or wait for Photoshop to apply a filter, I compulsively run through the browser tabs, checking for posts to moderate or updates from FriendFeed, Facebook, and elsewhere. At first, I rigorously watch the clock. A minute here, five minutes there. But oh, I have to check that link. Aha, there’s that information I’ve been looking for. Oh, right, I need to download that extension… And each little piece links to another little piece, and the distractions propagate with the efficiency of rhizomes. Crabgrass overtakes the mind.

Meanwhile, I’ll still be determined to finish the main task at hand. I’ve come this far, I need to get it done…I look up and it’s 4:00 a.m. and counting. By then I’m mostly in the sort of stupor of not wanting to move, endlessly clicking through tabs.

Yet most of that time is not wasted. Wandering is enriching, whether ambling through woods or web. The randomness pumps fuel into the creative effort. The unexpected juxtapositions I discover animate the imagination. But the contribution is as much to process as it is to content. When I’m trying to rephrase a sentence, directing my attention elsewhere for a moment often breaks the logjam. If I’m waiting on Photoshop to complete an action, I can be productive instead of simply drumming my fingers in frustration.

The problem is finding ways to draw appropriate borders around time. Not to say that doing so would solve the sleep problem in itself. But shifting the pattern of activity might make the day easier to contain. It’s a tall order, though, to rearrange one’s brain to that extent.

6 March 2009

Altered States

altered-statesx250 Sleeplessness is a drug. A mind altering medium. The cheapest on the market, available to anyone. As appealing in its own way as nicotine, alcohol, caffeine, and illegal substances of choice. Offering the same sort of trap.

True, most of the day-to-day sleep deprivation is uninspiring. The zombie sludge renders everything into dull greys. But every now and again, clarity breaks through. The mind opens wide; the thoughtstreams flood past their native boundaries, they puddle together like films of color on oil slicks. I enter the flow.

The flow is real. Evidence confirms its fleeting existence. This last week or so, for instance, I’ve made some real steps forward on various creative ventures. But even when I’m making progress there’s an hallucinatory air about it. I feel fortified during those hours. The obstacles ahead lose their opacity. The heavy lifting sheds its weight. I can see the world beyond the constraints of the present. At 2:00 a.m. all my plans seem possible. The likelihood that I’m going to be too tired to do any of it doesn’t occur to me at those times.

I suppose it’s a slight case of fatigue-induced hypomania. But it’s a powerful draw. Especially now when there is so much in my circumstances I would prefer to transcend. Yet somehow I have to engrave it into my brain that I will not be able to achieve that goal with only a few good hours every month or so.

Were those moments more frequent when I was younger? I couldn’t say. Maybe it was easier to convince myself. Recovery times were likely shorter. Were there fewer demands on my energy or was it just a case of more energy to spare? Whatever the case, the returns are certainly diminishing at this stage of my life.

I should note that I don’t deliberately set out to produce this altered state. The origins of my disordered sleep have such deep roots, there’s no telling where it starts. It’s been part of my make-up as far back as I can remember. I’m merely observing that along the way I’ve “learned” however unconsciously or semiconsciously, that sleep deprivation produces this effect. The reward has done its conditioning work sufficiently; least resistance wins.

Back when I was still smoking, I noticed that perhaps one cigarette out of a pack, if that many, actually could be described as a good experience. The rest I barely noticed. I used that observation to advantage when I quit. Why not just smoke the good ones and skip the rest? That’s more or less what I did, with the resulting irony that the cigarettes of those last three or four months were probably the most savored and enjoyed out of all the years I smoked.

I’m not sure how the principle applies here. It’s not like I can abstain from staying awake in the same way I could taper my cigarette intake.

The obvious next step would be to find other, healthier, ways of inducing this kind of mental expansion, elevation. Photo rambles, meditation, exercise, painting, writing — each of these can transform my mental reality. Each in its own way. They can reinforce but not substitute for each other.

Then again, at this stage, being rested and clear might cause hallucinations in its own right.

1 March 2009

**What are the benefits of dragging around with no sleep?**

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This is the first question I’m asking myself as I try to solve my chronic sleep deprivation.

The most obvious answer: it’s a ready excuse for everything. How can I help it if the work is less than stellar or overdue when my mind is staggering down the aisles with my eyes half closed? Exercise? Too risky, when tired muscles are so prone to strains and other injuries. Face my life? Make hard decisions? All covered.

I can say “no” without guilt to so many things I don’t want to do. I’m just too tired right now, you understand. If I weren’t too tired, I might not have the gumption to turn them down.

No one congratulates you on having normal hours or being rested or showing up on time on a regular basis. Where’s the romance in that, the derring-do?

We get points somehow for staying up late and forging sleeplessly ahead. A (very) cheap heroism. “Ha! Look at me, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since the disco era and I’m still on my feet!” Hey, if I can accomplish anything at all, it’s a marvel. Look elsewhere for miracles.

And so what if people grow impatient with one’s tardiness, slow pace, and apathy? One is too tired to care. There’s a nice, thick coat of lethargy to wrap around oneself and keep shelter from the winds without.

When I’ve stayed awake late enough to be exhausted to the point of passing out, I’m saved from the drifting thoughts of night that too often unearth the unpleasantries I’ve pushed aside throughout the day. Sweet oblivion when consciousness is beyond hope. No sudden fears to grab me, force me awake.

Since I’m feeling pretty wretched physically at any given moment — well, who wouldn’t be? — the slings and arrows of outrageous sleeping habits cover up the other aches and pains that unease the mind. The internal whisperings that ask if every minor physical change is the beginnings of cancer or other problems. The hauntings that are likely to grow as I near the age my mother died. Whispers that can’t be shut out because it’s always possible they’re true. It’s not even a longshot anymore. Nor necessarily answerable without tests and tests and money and inconclusiveness.

I can keep putting off the hard work, the hard thinking, waiting for the right time. Moving the “to do” items a little further forward each day, collecting more along the way, keeping all those pins juggling through the air in such a blur I can’t really see them. I’ll get to them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. And then I can toss half of them or more off to the side of the road when I finally notice tomorrow was yesterday. Or last week. Or too deep in time to remember.

The blur can be a comfort at times. Sitting in the quiet tonight with no one else here. Just me and the refrigerator noises, the click of the laptop keys, the puffs of air from the ceiling fan, the perpetual electronic hum most of us live in nowadays unless there’s a power failure. I am at home here in my sleeplessness, just another pulse of muffled noise.