Most of the people who suffer insomnia bear the bulk of its effects the next day. It is as clear to outsiders as the vision is blurry to the afflicted. Sounds are muted, situations are flavorless. Emotions get their volume turned down.
Hopelessly in love with darkness, I found in my new state of unemployment the perfect opportunity to make the conscious decision graveyard shift workers are condemned to. I decided to operate by night and sleep during the day.
Within the warm embrace of nighttime, my self confidence grew. Who would now focus on my slightly bigger right eye, uber-thin upper lip or distractingly hairy mole? I gradually became smart, creative. The dormant right side of my brain flourished again. In my mind, I was popular, attractive to the opposite sex. My conversations at the local waterholes became interesting, not only to myself but also to the listener. And that was just me outdoors! At home, I played music again. Singing, painting, dancing... I never thought I had ability for most of these fabulous activities. It turns out, I was just too busy to discover my talented inner self. Indeed, all forms of art previously forbidden to this tie-wearing monkey suddenly granted me their favor, like the woman who never dared look at you and now gets wet just thinking of your shadow.
How come art now flows like a river off my lips, hips and the tips of my fingers? I would put on a stripped jacket, jump on the street and dive into the crowds of bar patrons, homeless persons, garbage collectors and exhausted investment bankers coming home after another long day of pushing paper. At night, faces reflect the soul more clearly. Less natural light meant more life in a society obsessed with visual perfection.
My internet connection almost got interrupted for lack of payment, so I used my emergency funds to pay for one more month. A daily diet of street hotdogs got me sick. My beard got too itchy, then I discovered it had turned into a bug hotel.
No matter. I have to shave anyway. Tomorrow I have an important interview. It is time. One cannot be the owner of his own life for too long. The moment to exchange my time for a handful of dimes is once again at my doorstep, and the moment to wake up to adult reality has reared its ugly face.
For a moment there, it was nice to dream I was alive, to acknowledge I had no purpose.