I don't mean from the heat (although it is horrendously hot). Sometimes, my mind reaches a point where it stirs itself into a frenzy of misery-thought, and I'm left to deal with the consequences. There are a few common causes for such a state: an acrimonious argument with someone I'm close to, a realization or reminder of a personal failing of mine, an acknowledgment of life's inherent unfairness, and being forced to listen to hypocrites compliment themselves are frequent catalysts for a descent into unutterable moodiness. But that's odd, because I woke up feeling fine, and I didn't experience any of the above today. It was, all in all, a lovely and relaxing day, with a few significant victories. And yet.
When I get like this, the primary effect is that my brain refuses to allow me to go to sleep. It's not that I'm miserable; it's just that I'm so mentally fixated on whatever problem has presented itself that I'm unable to slow down my consciousness. This is different, though, from the kinds of challenges I talked about before. These aren't challenges; they're conundra, and the essential difference is that I don't believe they have solutions. Focusing all of your mental energy on problems that don't have solutions is not a recipe for mental happy times! And yet.
For that reason, I'm trying to put a lot of thought into what constitutes escapism for me. All of us have little hobbies or distractions that pull us away from our stressors long enough for us to recuperate a bit. I'm just not sure what mine are anymore. If you had asked me a few years ago, I would happily have answered that I like to play video games and read to relax. And that's still true, to an extent, but now I try to limit myself to games and books that are deeply challenging. To be challenged while consuming media requires that you're going to be uncomfortable, and discomfort doesn't make for very good escapism.
I guess the kind of thing I'm looking for would be considered a guilty pleasure, something that asks very little of me, something mindless. But I find such things infinitely boring! Who wants to be mindless?
My mom often tells me that my brain is always busy, that I don't have any idea how to truly relax. She says it as though it's a character flaw, something I need to fix about myself before I can be fully happy. And she might be right, because there are certainly times when I'm not happy. All of us have those times, I'm sure, but how many of us lose an entire night's sleep when they roll around?
I can't count how many times I've stared at the dark ceiling for hours, only to have my sleepless repose ended by the morning chirps of avian alarm clocks. It's a terrible feeling every time, especially because you know those dang birds just got a good night's sleep.
Now, it's not like I have chronic insomnia. This doesn't really happen more than once every couple of months (although, depending on how upset I am, it can last for several days). And there are certain advantages to being freed from the all-consuming tendrils of sleep: it gives your subconscious the opportunity to run rampant, expressing itself in all its madness in the waking world for a time. For example, here's a sheet of paper I scribbled on during one such night recently:
I'd just read Cat's Cradle, so I scrawled Ice-9 in there. And the little sketches of the man and the stylized bird's head are purely incidental. Everything else, and I mean everything else on that page (other than the pen marks in the corner) is intimately connected and a fully honest manifestation of my stream of consciousness as I sat on the porch at 2am, stared at the street, and tried to find some way to quiet my maddeningly busy mind.
I know what it all means, but I'm not about to tell you. The fun is in the guessing. The last time I felt this way, I scribbled all over that sheet of paper. This time, I'm scribbling all over this one. Be my guests, friends. In a sense, it helped me sleep. I wish it could help me now.
go home to your wife and family
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