Insomnia, that old friend from school. The one who used to bully me, until I’d have to stay in and hide. Yes, hide in my bedroom like a coward. She’s a lot stronger than me; nastier too. She whispers cruel things to me, just when I am at my lowest. Defeated, shamed, humiliated, I cower. One can try to run, but running only makes you weaker, smaller, eight years old again. In the darkest night of the soul, it is always three o’clock in the morning. The three AMs of this world are beautiful; calm, silent, alien – unsullied with the general filth of industry, objectives, tasks, people. They’re not meant for people; they’re life’s secret time, where magic happens. You’re not supposed to watch. In the quiet, you hear things. Good things, bad things. Things you’re not meant to know. Insomnia – the dark goddess, an unkind demon who taps, taps, tipperty-taps when the lights go out with ugly, twisted fingernails. Tap, tap, tap; ‘hush little baby, don’t close your eyes, mamma’s going to send you to your demise.’ That succubus; she’ll give you one hell of a ride: anxiety, doubt, grief, fury. Then she’ll laugh, because of course she’s winning. Fury, grief, regret, hopelessness. Without hope, without rest. The minutes tick by like hours, suddenly so concerned for you to get a full dose of misery. Just go to sleep. Go to sleep? Sleep is a paradise island, warm with good service; I’d sooner get there by swimming than sleep. Insomnia scratches you on the inside. Yes, it makes you tired. Crazy tired. Crazy. Crazy. You think, there’s a sleep I can find even You can’t keep from me; the kind that lasts forever and ever. ‘And if that demise does not come fast, mamma’s gunna just make your agony last.’ Five o’clock in the morning, and 60 hours to go. Retarded hours, that are only slower than your own fumbling thoughts. Thoughts too crude and weak to be rational, to be pleasant, to be worth thinking for. Goodnight?