Morning glory

Just another insignificant moment.

I had to turn off the telly. At this hour, almost morning, my cravings for sugar outcompete my needs for sleep. Insomnia is hard, but addictions are harder. And rubbish-telly ain’t helping me.

I’m sluggishly laid on the sofa, the clock tictacs loudly against the silence. The more I try to ignore it, the more I hear it. The more it pounds on, reminding me I’ve got hours of sleep to catch up and not many hours left to do so. I’m at that point where I’m considering just staying up all day and tiring my body to sleep early. Restart this mortal coil by exhaustion, kickstart a new sleeping cycle and regain the control of my bloody routine. Or not.

I pick up a bar of chocolate. Which turns into two, and three. And suddenly I’m munching my way into the morning, and into high glycaemia, not helping this sleeplessness and the thoughts that silently clog up my restless mind. So the more I think, the more I eat; and ironically, the more I eat, the more I think. And here I am, asking “and why is that?” while I’m alone, everybody else sleeping and snoring in the distance.

Lacasitos is Spanish for M&Ms, albeit a national snack which I ignore if it’s known outside Spain. For me, they are synonymous of “leisure.” Every time I eat them, I can’t help recalling all the hours I spent in the university library trying to come up with new ideas, ingenious answers, lengthy paragraphs, novel hypotheses and ways to end essays as fast, and as elegantly, as possible – and to avoid bringing that work back home with me, although I’ll admit I usually failed.

So to keep up with the unending hours and cope with the tedium, my friend and I would go down to a vending machine and buy a couple of Lacasitos; that is, these small packages of M&M-like treats.

Ah, those moments… Now I’m missing my friend and those apparently simpler days.

I’ve finished all the chocolate, my sleep is nowhere to be found but I feel my eyes heavy, the silence is pierced by this unnerving tictac and I can’t stop wriggling my toes at the end of the sofa, thinking about when I was happier and not feeling as useless and as pathetic as I’m feeling right now.

The thing is, this is not the first night I spend like this, and it won’t be the last. This new state of mind has gained an unhealthy momentum, I acknowledge. And although I’ve tried to stop it several times, I couldn’t. Not willing and not being in the mood is the excuse. So I’m letting it run its course, like a fever. A really bad fever, which I hope is nearing its end than just starting.

Tomorrow I’ll send this picture to my friend and we’ll reminisce about the good ol’ days when neither of us had so many problems in mind and so little time to expunge them out of our system; when we were younger and less complicated, perhaps – or we were just the poor souls that couldn’t (and didn’t) expect the storm about to engulf us so ferociously and unexpectedly.

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