Sure enough, no sleep last night – I went to bed at midnight, clonk, asleep, but then I woke up at 1:30. I tried counting backwards from a hundred, then a thousand, deep breathing, Richard’s opening monologue… finally I turned on the light and started reading. By the time the sky started moving into that indigo shade, I was almost through with this biography of FDR I’ve been unenthusiastically reading for awhile now. Now I wish I’d gotten up and started playing or writing — but it seems likely I’ll have more chances as I move through these 21 days.
Earlier, I was practicing, first guitar, then the visiting upright bass, then an hour of scales on the piano, finally to El Siete, and on little breaks I’d go into the kitchen for a bite, or a glass of tea or whatever, and I’d feel this lift in my step, I could feel my body sort of happily anticipating hop love.
We’re habituated, body and me.
My tendency to habituation has often been useful – as a kid doing martial arts, as a musician trying to keep growing and learning, as a person trying to transform himself into a writer, my loopiness gives me a certain capacity for getting through the hard parts to the rewards. As a child this was something a little… quirky about me. As an adult, it both lets me accomplish huge tasks and oppresses the shit out of me.
So I told body, sorry body, no ale for you – and body said, eh, whatever…
…but you ain’t gonna get any sleep.
