I’m ready to go to sleep now instead of write. I’m ready to give in to sleep and its uselessness and be nothing for a while before the alarm clock wakes me up and I start the whole thing over again. I will wake, dress for work, go to work, and throughout the day the engine of my mind will be running with no place to go. My desk and hourly pay will hold me in place.
I have found that I’m of a more sound mind if I stay up late into the night and write or read a book with concentration until I feel exhaustion in my blood. But for the last week or so, I feel ready to go to sleep without occupying myself. I feel inclined to let the nothingness of sleep encompass me. I no longer think of sleep as rest, but a necessary stasis thrown at me from somewhere unknown. I’ve never wanted to sleep, but lately have given in to it without the consideration of the thoughts that would claim motion over a fixed inaction.
I take this as a bad sign, a surge in depressive thoughts working below the surface of my thinking, staying hidden and unassuming. Knowing this, I must confirm fully with myself that my initial motive in remaining in action for as long as possible was a principle deterrent against darker thoughts that cause me to abandon motion and let myself sleep unfinished and empty.