Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Thoughts Without Sleep

So, have you ever gotten really sleepy? Like, not just tired because you worked hard, or stayed up too late one night. I'm talking more like you haven't gotten enough rest in several days.

So, as I type this, it's 4:02, and I'm at work. Third night in a row that I've worked twelve hours on third shift. The first night was hard, because I'm used to being in bed around 1 or 2 (since I work second shift). I made an interesting discovery when I got home after work the next morning.

Did you know that your body won't rest properly when it detects even the slightest trace of sunlight? Oh, you can nap, sure. And naps can be refreshing, but the hard truth is that naps cannot replace the sleep you get at night. Well, you can't do that kind of sleep when the sun is up.

The second night was understandably difficult, then. It's amazing the things you'll see when you "hit the wall". Last night I learned that no amount of stimulants can make the hallucinations stop. Sure, you may be awake, but you're still not mentally sharp. Only twice before have I felt like this, and both involved severe sleep deprivation. And driving. Bad combination.

I've been typing for nearly 12 minutes now. Mostly because I'm having to do work-related things.

Math is absolutely hilarious when sleep-deprived. Trust me.

I've been listening to the same speed-metal song on repeat for nearly an hour. It's losing its effect. My internet explorer just had a hiccup and reset the counter. Odd.

This has degenerated into random thoughts as I pass by my computer. I have another night of this after tonight. Thank God that the weekend follows.

When you're deprived of rest and overworked, you become unfriendly. You don't mean to, but it happens. Frustration sets in. Before you know it, you just want to be left alone. You want to sleep when the sun isn't up. You stop wanting food or drink (other than water). You stop desiring anything other than a bed in a cool, dark room. Solitude.

Even now, I have three hours before I can go home, and all I can think of is the horrible fact that the sun will rise in two hours. And, when I go home in the morning, it will shine through the window, no matter when I use to block it out. Even the thickest fabric allows light though, it seems. The sun, which grants us energy and warmth, which we cannot live without, becomes a curse that seeps in around any and every guard. After a while, you start believing that maybe there is no night. Maybe there is no such thing as rest. Maybe you've always been as you are now, perpetually awakened by work and light, never stopping, never clear, never truly awake or asleep.

I'm like that now. I have always existed as I am now. There is no place other than this production floor. I have always been here, since before time, and I will be here forever, because there is no such thing as time. Time is an illusion. "Outside" is an illusion. There is no sound other than the music in my earbuds and the clanking, hissing, whining of machinery. There exists nothing other than these bags, marching steadily down the production line. They never began, and they will never end. This is the immortal circle.

Wow. I need to stop writing down my thoughts and finish up this long long long night so I can go home. Maybe, maybe, maybe I'll get some sleep this time. Maybe noone will awaken me or require my attention. Maybe, if God truly is merciful, I'll be granted the blackened respite I so desperately need.

For those of you asleep at this very moment, I envy you so much. Wrapped up in your blankets, snoring away, dreaming, happy. I hope I get to join your ranks soon.

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