Confessions of an insomniac

I’m not sure if my inability to sleep through the night is a malady or a blessing.  I can’t remember when it started but I do know that there is a correlation between less sleep and more creativity.  Is this the trade-off for a creative mind?  Is it because there is so much going on inside my brain (and the brains of those like me who are most probably pondering similar questions even as they continue to splatter the world with their own brand of beauty)?  I have heard that there is a thin line between genius and insanity.  I believe that because there are moments that  something worthy of being called brilliant emerges from the jumble of noise in my head and then  there are other times when there is simply noise.  Well not simply noise.  The noise is quite complicated.  It has varying levels and hues, tones and undertones; pitch and volume, light and mustiness.  It is frightening and comforting and enlightening and startling.  There are times (kinda like now) when the noise is so noisy that it drives me from my bed before dawn has had a chance to think about cracking.  It pushes me to a pen or a pencil or a keyboard and forces itself out of my fingers in a barrage of words and phrases and assonance and consonance and staccato clicks of keys struck by (beautifully manicured) acrylic nails.  That noise then decides what it’s going to be.  It tells me if it will be a poem or a story or the beginning of a novel or the continuation of something that demands to be separate from the noise that is inside my head. Something beautifully independent of the fingers through which if flowed.  Something alive with a will of its own.  And when it recedes…goes back to being a distant murmur in the corner of my mind, I go back to bed and try (again)  to sleep.


~ by Diva2de on August 20, 2013.

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