July 20, 2001, 3:45 amDear diary -- or should I call you a journal? I think "journal" sounds more adult somehow. What do you think? Why don't we just leave it for now.My bedside clock says it's 3:45 am. Wait -- now it's 3:46 am. I'll have to be awake in another four hours. I'm debating whether or not to get up and do something productive like vacuum or drywall. I'll debate another hour and exhaust myself into twitchy semi-consciousness. Sounds like a plan.
I know why kids are afraid of the dark. In the void, the spectre of their future appears as monsters and goblins. Adults know these spectres as loans officers and employers. Fear looms larger in a darkened room. Your own mortality is clear.
Maybe I should have some milk.
July 23, 2001, 4:25 amDear journal -- hmm. I kinda like "Dear diary" better. "Dear journal" sounds too 1984-ish, too bureaucratic. What ever happened to the Orwellian predictions of 1984? I suppose brutal conformity did happen. Everyone wore pastels.Mortimer at work said I did a good job on the report. What did he mean by that? What was he getting at? I don't trust him. He has crystals in his office. He has an office. It's all a ruse to trick me into a false sense of security. I'm on contract, for god's sake. I could be out the door in a second, panhandling on Yonge Street with punk kids from Richmond Hill. Or worse, I could be doing amateur night at a stand-up comedy club. I have an idea. I'll smile more often. I'll walk down the corridors smiling. All the time. My co-workers will think I've either been promoted to a staff position or gone insane. Flip of the coin.
Maybe I should have some warm milk.
July 24, 2001, 5:12 amDear journal/diary -- Can't sleep, but for a solid reason. The people upstairs are blaring techno and "whooing." It sounds like one of the party guests upstairs is either throwing up or having sex. It's been so long for me that it's hard to tell the difference. They say having sex helps you sleep. That's the way I used to sell it to my ex-husband. Maybe that's why he's my ex.Maybe I should go knock on the neighbours' door, not to tell them to keep it down, but to be louder. If I'm up, I'm up.
July 25, 2001, 2:57 amDear diary/journal -- Sometimes you just can't sleep. They say women are biologically lighter sleepers than men. We always have an eye and ear open in case a baby cries. I have an eye and ear open for my own crying. My eyes feel like they're calcifying. I'm so tired I can feel my skeleton turning to wire. Electricity darts under my eyelids. When I do manage to fall asleep, it's invariably on public transportation. Passengers usually jostle me because I've drooled on their shoulder. Maybe that's what I should do now -- get on the streetcar! The mundane anguish will lull me.
July 27, 2001, 3:54 am Dear diarnal -- get it? -- "diarnal." I've mixed "diary" and "journal" to form a diarnal. Sounds like a sleeping pill. July 27 sounds like a sleeping pill. My adrenal glands must look like pillows by now. How can one person have so many stress hormones. And what's with my pituitary gland? Isn't it where melatonin is produced or whatever-the-hell hormone helps you sleep? I can't keep track of my glands. Mortimer at work suggested I do yoga. This during a department meeting. What's he getting at? The earth is scorched, the sun is angry, the environment is turning to dust. Fuck people and their cars -- they're killing the planet. I don't want stuff -- I want other people to have stuff I can rent. My brain is a centrifuge of obsession, an amusement park ride that won't stop.I wish every day were like winter in Iqualuit.
July 30, 2001, 4:21 amHey. Monday or Tuesday morning. No, Monday. I've been let go from the office, and my new landlord is taking over my apartment. Most people would lose sleep over this, but it doesn't affect my nocturnal habits one bit. This news would kill a person accustomed to eight hours of uninterrupted slumber, but not me. I feel great.I'm hoping this crisis will have the reverse effect on me. Maybe the enormity of the stress and my chronic insomnia will cancel each other out. Maybe I'll fall into peaceful, fretless sleep and have sweet dreams. I'm only losing my livelihood and home, it could be worse. I could have the flesh-eating disease.
Maybe I should have some warm milk with a shot of rum.
July 31, 2001, 11:55 amDear diary -- I just woke up! I went to bed at midnight and slept solidly the whole night through. Without meds! So this is what it's like to be clear-headed and rested. If I could manage a coma like this once every couple of weeks, I think I'd be fine.I have nothing else to lose. But sleep.