As I commented to one of the parents while we were sitting together and chatting at a Wendy’s after volleyball practice, one of the things I have not necessarily appreciated about having contacts is that now the dark shadows under my eyes are much more apparent to me (and presumably everyone else), appearing as some kind of permanent mascara or black eye. I have earned those dark circles, with not being particularly good at sleeping soundly even when at long last I am able to quiet my mind enough to sleep in the first place. The raccoon eyes I have are from a mind that knows little rest, has known little rest for as long as I live, and may never know rest as long as I draw breath. Whether my absence of peaceful sleep, something I write about distressingly often [1], is due this week to other causes or concerns, I have my guesses but cannot speak for certain. At any rate, I expect to be up fairly late tonight not because I am a devotee of New Years’ traditions [2] but rather because I sleep late and poorly in general, and tonight will likely be no different, as exhausted as my body feels after bad sleep for more than a week in a row.
The New Years’ tradition of which I speak is that of staying up all night to watch some ball drop while some people chat and count down from ten to one, to welcome the new Gregorian year in style. I will not be watching any such shows, although I am sure that at least a few of my neighbors will probably light some illegal fireworks to celebrate the change from 2014 to 2015, as one year bids good riddance and another year takes it place. I have often been awake for the new year, but seldom on purpose, except for one time in the winter of 1999 when I stayed up late just to see for myself that no harm would come about because of Y2K, and none did, except perhaps to my sleeping schedule. That harm comes often enough that it is not something I consider noteworthy unless it is particularly unpleasant. Such times come often enough to try the patience of most of my blog’s readers, I would assume. It would be glorious to sleep peacefully and deeply, but I have not been that fortunate during the course of my life and little expect that to start now.
It would appear as if many people have special rituals for New Years’ Eve. I do not, aside from the thematic blog entries I write at times. Several times today, in fact, coworkers asked me what sort of special plans I had, and I told them what my plans were: picking up a new set of trial contacts, eating dinner and finishing a book, and then writing. I have no plans to drink, to watch television, or to enjoy a New Years’ kiss, seeing as this will be the tenth year to pass by without kisses at all. About seven and a half years ago, a therapist gave me the spectacularly bad counsel of renting a prostitute, advice which I was particularly keen on rejecting, advice which was immoral, unethical, and illegal (although, since it was Tampa, it was probably thought of as fairly normal behavior). Today, one of my coworkers suggested I get a cat, as that would help me sleep better, advice that I am particularly keen on rejecting for the reason that I know little of how to take care of a pet and have a roommate who is allergic to pet hair, although a fan of cats in theory. I do not wish to bring peace to myself at the cost of torment or suffering to another soul. From time to time I may enjoy mischievous teasing, but the thought that anything I would say or do would cause torment to someone else is deeply horrifying to me. I have suffered enough to not wish to be the cause of suffering for anyone else.
In both cases, though, the advice, bad as it may be either in general or in my specific context, was done for the purpose of seeking an external means of bringing rest and peace to my life by finding something that would calm my mind through affection and intimacy. The hope is, of course, that finding some channel for giving and receiving love would allow me to sleep better, longer, and happier. As to whether this will work as intended, I cannot say, but it is a case where the wishes of those around me and my own are in great agreement, merely lacking a way to go forward that corresponds with my standards of moral behavior and the mutual wishes and well-being of myself and those around me. How many years of good sleep will be required to make my raccoon eyes go away, so that it might not be obvious at even a cursory glance that I have been robbed of sleep like an unfortunate vagabond continually plundered by pirates and thieves. Perhaps it is just that my sleep be so troubled as the price of the hyperactive mind I have and the price of being too concerned about the goings on of my life, particularly those things that are entirely out of my power to control or often even influence in a positive way. Such a price, though, is a great burden to pay, even if it is a burden I have borne all of my days.
[1] See, for example:
Even While We Sleep, We Will Find You Acting On Your Best Behavior
[2] See, for example:
Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot And Never Brought To Mind
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