Eleven something AM, woke up feeling like shit. My mental state mourning the cessation of an another failed attempt at good sleep.
The night before, intermittently, I was being bit by insects I couldn't see, for hours I had been tossing and turning restlessly. Did I forget to wash and change the sheets? Maybe. Either way this made me aware that I've been caged by a sort of complacency. Fuck me.
The insects were probably in my mind, perhaps the side effect of being confined. Although, it was a sort of voluntary exile, I had no reason to not be confined. The outside didn't need me, and the inside was less scary. And then someone started a lockdown. Now there was no out. But as a disconnected node in the graph of society, I started feeling even more free. Now it was just my invisible insects and me. A match seemingly made for and since eternity.
Fuck that, I thought to myself. My generosity doesn't stray far from my species, the insects aren't gonna be living here rent free. Given the lack of society, the insects had become my first priority.
Insecticide and disinfectant, a duo made in heaven. Spray the mattress to commit insecticide, then the sheets for all those that hide. What was the disinfectant for again? I don't remember, but there was a virus in the air, bacteria on the bed. Maybe the ethanol in the can could help me deal with all that. I was aware of my susceptibility to ignorance and curiosity fueled combinations, but surviving stupidity is the quickest way to wisdom.
I started the cleansing at thirteen something. An hour of meticulous spraying and two empty containers later: a poisoned mattress, and a disinfectant wet sheet. Let's wait and see.
I was excited for the night. At two, roughly around the time when sleep strikes, I was ready with a stupid smile, to finally understand what people meant by 'sleep tight'. Regulator set to three, the perfect balance between noise and breeze, I was ready to descend into sleep. Alright, it's power down time, started my ritual, The Giver in my right hand; on the device, but without the blue light, books can't b read in the dark of the night.
I started my descent, hypnagogia and all… several minutes pass by, I'm still descending but this time like a penguin attempting flight off of the wrong side of a cliff. Curse this need for sleep, I thought; felt like I had wished for descent upon a monkey's paw. Once again, I could feel the invisible insects bite and crawl. Lights on, not a trace. I was convinced that the ninja like insects were confabulations from behind my face. Why do you do this to me brain? You have been driving me insane!
Fed up of another set of occurrences effervescing from beneath my threshold of consciousness; being unable to impugn my hypothesis of psychosomatic occurrences, or corroborate the cause of this effect, I finally gave up and relegated my purpose to the vanquishing of more urgent, primal needs. After an hour or so of that, I applied for another attempt at sleep. This time the insects didn't bother me. I think I may have even dreamed, but either way woke up as usual feeling bleak.
Days have passed post my futile expedition to rid my life of the insects. I have since then tried various experiments with different sheets and mattresses, all to no avail. The frequency has decreased. The congregation of uncountable invisible insects these days seldom seek sojourn on my sleeping body. But when they do, they wreak havoc on my psyche. Their occurrences have no humanly discernible pattern. I live in perpetual hope that some esoteric knowledge of the future will grant me root access to kill these internal amok run processes.
$ sudo killall psychosomatic\ disorders