Dear Friend,
The time is 01:25. I had no nap today but yet my eyes do not close. My back aches, my chest is a little tight but still, my eyes do not close. The irony that I am watching The Sandman while searching for sleep dances across my mind, almost taunting me. I am smiling at the thought to myself in my desk mirror. I am actually funny. I will probably go for the vodka in the kitchen. If Morpheus won’t come to my aid, then I guess I will have to take matters into my own hands.
There are two sentences that have found themselves always in my thoughts, foreground or background: “when you put down the thing, then you find out why you were picking up the thing” and “You’ll kill yourself and it won’t be suicide; there are many ways to skin a cat after all”. I have found, in my brief life, that words often leave an indelible impression on my soul. Sometimes, I am David - storing them for battle with my Goliath; other times I am Caesar - whispering et tu, Brute as the words betray me. I tell myself that in both cases, I am still king. I am very good at lying to myself.
I have a rather good relationship with alcohol. The general consensus is that this relationship never ends well; I do not agree. “when you put down the thing, then you find out why you were picking up the thing” . I have gone long periods without a drink, and like Buddha after his self-denial period, I find nothing there. It is like a suffering, an unnecessary courting of damning loneliness. The trick to a good relationship with alcohol I have found, like the Buddha concluded, is moderation. Though I find that my own method of moderation is often a couple of shots more than required.
I did not drink the vodka. Somewhere along the last two paragraphs, and a few minutes of fistful shut-eye, inertia set in and the kitchen became too far. The time is 06:58. Dawn here, dusk there; what better way to mark the passing of another day. Mornings are easier with alcohol, a friend.
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.”
―Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
In the final year of primary school, I came across this poem in one of our required readings - a compilation of poems put together by the school. It was also the first time I actively wrote - I wrote a haiku for a competition. I did not win but I had fallen, slowly, more in love with words; beyond escaping into them, I learnt I could control them. I was rather prolific albeit rather shit in secondary school - I escaped into worlds I created after returns from worlds I had escaped to while reading. I wrote Power Rangers, (FBI) Interpreter and even Supa Strikas imitation novels. Thankfully, these exist only in my memory because super cringe. This poem, opening stanza - as it appears it is indeed longer than I was led to memorize, and its words dug its claws into me. I would not think of these words again till I saw my corner in my room at the university.
To Mary Queen the praise be given, it was in university that sleep slid into my soul. It was also at university that I was free to practice the religion that I had chosen, initially against my mother’s will, which was Catholicism. I had grown up Pentecostal but something about the Catholic Church had called to me in secondary school; I answered, got baptized, and confirmed. In university, truly away from home, the Catholic Church offered me a home and sleep, To Mary Queen the praise be given, became a bosom companion. It was familiar. I did not have to perform for it. And if I stayed asleep long enough, I would have less waking hours to spend in this reality that I was struggling with. Simpler times.
I slept through my first year in university - a miracle that I made it into second year. It is also why it is odd that I am struggling with sleep now. I was convinced that this was the one thing mother and I had in common; that is gone now. I wonder if this struggle with sleep is a result of my lack of faith. I stopped attending mass in my third year.
I am on my third complete re-watch of The Crown; it is a magnificent show. I have seen each season no less than three times. In Season 3, Episode 4 “Bubbbikins”, the following conversation ensues between a faithless Prince Philip and his mother, the pious Princess Alice:
- Now, Bubbikins, you mentioned faithlessness. How is your faith?
- Dormant.
- What?
- Dormant.
- That's not good. Let this be a mother's gift... to her child. The one piece of advice... Find yourself a faith. It helps. No... Not just helps. It's everything.
In a conversation with A, somewhere amongst navigating dark humor, baking, and a failed plea for me to try fish, we spoke of my envy of people with faith. Let this be a mother’s gift… to her child. Princess Alice hesitates - her life flashing before her eyes, a dawning descending on her - when she adds Not just helps It is everything. I envy the calm of the believer - in a god, the stars, cosmic rules, anything. The believer has the ability to surrender, absolutely, to rules, systems that have been deemed beyond reproach. There is no space for doubt to thrive. In the midst of life storms, the believer only has to lean on his faith and find himself in the eye of the storm - waiting, as all things eventually do - for it to end. As I concluded with A, maybe this is what I am missing. This faith.
If Mary Queen has indeed turned her eyes from me, how then do I find sleep? No Mary, no Morpheus. I test my limits, increasing the level slightly each time - one more shot, one more c-stick. Each morning I wake, my chest and feel lighter but a new body part has begun to ache. The trade off seems fair enough; how dare I try to have it all? Which drug is without side-effect? Which life choice without sacrifice or consequence? Each night I wait for sleep, one more glass, one more c-stick; Mary and Morpheus blind to my patience. “You’ll kill yourself and it won’t be suicide; there are many ways to skin a cat after all”. Each day I am afraid, my body will decide it has had enough and eject me. Wille zum leben. It seems it is a rather persistent force.
My favorite videos on TikTok asides my new love for standup comedy are the anime videos - fan animation, theories, AMVs, the entire lot. I was waiting for sleep when I stumbled across a Kubo Tite VIZ interview about the upcoming continuation of Bleach with the Thousand Year Blood War. Kubo talks about his direct involvement with the continuation of the series, and also about adding more details that he would have liked to include in the manga. The anime stopped airing in 2012. Hype does not even begin to describe it. As Nodt, Unohana, Captain Commander Shunsui Kyoraku! I do not apologize for my excitement. Please, save Soul Society, Kurosaki Ichigo!!
I, finally, got my first pair of Hingees joggers. Thank you sugar mummy C Pands Sterling ! I am totally in love with the texture of the joggers and the finish. Absolutely amazing stuff. Deeper pockets and I will probably never buy joggers from any other vendor. I also had a very pleasant customer experience throughout the ordering/delivery process. Definitely need to get my money up so that I can afford more of them. Ugh, capitalism.
On that note, I want to tell you that I have completed, at long last, my Google Project Management Professional Certificate. Thank you, thank you. It took longer than I planned but I guess that’s one of the things I learnt about being a project manager: the need for agility, adaptability and flexibility. I am currently trying to work out a plan to getting a Certified Associate in Project Management certification but I believe it would be nice to have some actual experience while I work towards that. I guess this is me saying that I am on the lookout for any Junior Project Manager role at your organization, or any organization that is hiring. So, if you’ve got something for me - a referral, a job - do kindly reach out to me; I would love to hear from you. Phew! That was a little easier than I envisaged. #cringerecovery
How are you, friend? I fear I might have rambled on for longer than I planned. I often wonder how you are really doing, behind the masks that you might have to put on each day. I hope that you are finding it easier than I am, that perchance you have a faith that sustains you. As Lord Morpheus poses: what is it that kills hope? I do not know if it gets better, but I can only, have to, hope that it does.
“You’ll kill yourself and it won’t be suicide; there are many ways to skin a cat after all”. Ove, in the book I am currently reading - A Man Called Ove by Frederik Backman, has attempted suicide twice and is still intent on going through with it. A man of principles. I am almost halfway through the book and find myself curious as to how he deals with his grief and the subsequent death of his will to live - Wille Zum Leben. I also wonder if he has any thoughts on the multiple options involved in skinning a cat. I doubt he would approve of my vices, in search of sleep no less. Men of principles do not do vices.
The time is 01:15. A different morning. One more glass. One more c-stick. I do not presume that today is the day that Morpheus or Mary Queen decide to visit me. I will probably end up poring over pages in Ove’s life wondering if his Wille Zum Leben is manifesting as his late wife. Sleep should come then; one more glass, one more c-stick. I am getting my glasses tomorrow, let’s see what seeing more of the world - in high definition - has in store for me. Yay.
I am wishing you a good week, friend. I hope that ease finds you. And if it doesn’t, well, life’s a bitch and does what it does. Take a deep breath, go again. Who knows, maybe we’ll have a chat in the dreaming, eh? I am rooting for you. Stay safe.
Signing off to The Man Who Wrote Thriller by Little Comets
“Picture the instant
When it dawns in your mind
That the things that you wanted
Were never so kind
How will you react
To this seminal moment?”
Sine Cera
Osondu
Beautiful Uche! If we don't kill ourselves, who will?