Another sleepless night.
“I’ve really got to switch out this mattress,” he grumbled as he uncomfortably shifted into the eighth position of the night. It was going to be far from the last. Another ten minutes of attempted sleep passed by before he opened his eyes in resignation. There wasn’t any point in trying to sleep; it was far from the mattress which was upsetting his circadian rhythm.
He shifted himself to stare at the empty popcorn ceiling. Illuminated by the moonlight, it resembled the rugged surface of a blank canvas.
“What would I paint?” he chuckled as the only images which came to mind were plots and graphs. They were always beautiful to him. The meaning derived from these images always seemed more tangible than those of Van Gogh or Picasso.
“If my life were a graph right now, I know exactly where I would be,” he sighed.
“The top of the parabola.”
Or as some others would call it: he peaked. It was just downhill from here. A dozen jumbled thoughts ran through his head as he closed his eyes in another attempt to retreat into his dreams; where fortunately his only problems were to keep track of the sheep.
He could hear the ocean waves gently crashing outside. Never-ending. No matter what happened in the world, the ocean waves continued ceaselessly upon the shore. Up and down. Up and down. A constant.
Something he could learn from. He entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was at an inflection point. The trajectory hasn’t changed. Like the moments between low tide and high tide.
“Did you really just make metaphors between your life and the ocean,” he could hear in his best friend’s voice. He chuckled and finally felt a little worn out.
He thought…
“If only I could be the sea.“
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Cathode Rey Tube 