sleep makes things softer

sleep is like a calm lake i will slide into naked

when I don’t get enough sleep, my mind morphs into a room with a thousand problems to solve. in that room, a hundred blades fly around with no wooden handles on them, and I’m tied to a chair in the middle of the room, too tired to do anything about it. I trap myself in the sticky state of self-misery and self-pity, and my mind wants to latch onto anything to be unhappy about:

all men become giant problems. little gifts feel like overwhelming responsibilities. small requests turn into big burdens. and my work — which usually feels like precious gemstones — feels like a giant boulder I am tasked to push up a mountain, again and again.

sleep — and getting enough sleep — makes everything feel softer.

sleep melts the butter of my mind, and then the things I think become spreadable over toast. sleep makes the world feel possible, spongey, alive. sleep makes my insides feel more gentle. it makes the aching less sour, the bitterness more palatable. it makes problems go away (unless I go to sleep angry at the person I sleep next to, then it makes everything explode in the morning, which is fine).

if sleep is such an easy salve, why don’t we cherish it more? why is finishing this or that task more important than surrendering into the calm, nocturnal lake of sleep?

there are so many ways to measure the worth of a day other than, did I get enough done today?

how about: do I feel serenity today? am I happy to be alive today? do I feel sensitive to beauty today? sleep helps me with all of that.