Mugs of coffee and even cans of cola, supplemented by music loud enough to stir dead bodies. All of these, have always collectively failed against my ability to sleep in the face of tomorrow's examination. Insomnia, after all, was my mother's disease.
Walking around the house, making sounds similar to the noises made by the manacled ghost who came to visit Ebenezer Scrooge, my mother is the strongest ( and most unwilling) opponent that sleep has ever faced. Or maybe I should have written that in past tense. My mother in the typically cliched manner won the battle but lost the war. Sleep had new armor, sleeping pills, which took on a dual role, the one of weaponry as well.
But never did I think that she would pass on the baton. While my mother finally sleeps albeit fitfully, I stay awake not because another exam stares me in the eye. Hell, no! But because suddenly I seem to be left with no choice but to fight the losing war. When I should be achieving my REM sleep stage, I sit upright reading a crazed out author's rant about the perspective of a patient in coma. And if not that, then I am listening to music, which always seems to egg you on to be someone stupendously musically talented (rockstar, punk rocker...what is with the obsession, oh you lords of musictown? You sing. We can't.). Or I am sitting, staring at a computer monitor and a keyboard, wondering why I ramble at something inanimate and inane.
But then, what does one do when one cannot sleep? I guess some people update their status, others tweet. I...I just rant.
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