Friday, February 06, 2004

I Am Error

Sleep itself has no appeal to me. It’s this inevitable downtime — coma lite — wherein I waste a good third of my day. It’s not much different than the state I’ve now sent three (3) inexpensive fish. Little slices of death, I think Poe called them. Yet daily, I look forward to the time when I lie in bed with a blanket dividing six feet of my space from the rest of the world’s. And tonight at 3 something in the morning, after I’ve triumphed over another long day at the Nexus, I finally realize why I look forward to bedtime despite my disdain for the indolence of sleep.

It’s the sound of sleep.

I don’t mean the gibbering, mewling, purring, lip-smacking language of sleep. That’s an annoying diversion that makes sharing a room with Cory a bit more pleasant. No, I mean this inarticulatable sensation of having encroaching sleep reaching into my ears, stroking them with a familiar affection. It’s not an absence. If it were, I wouldn’t feel it so strongly flowing into my brain from both sides.

It’s the noise of a time itself shutting down for a few hours. It’s like soft hair against skin. It’s like the shadow of the tree in the front yard cast against the living room wall — the only time the tree or the wall ever looks nice, I’ve noticed. It’s knowing I’ll be the only one awake to see the night flash green and then turn dark blue again, to witness a early morning three-hour ban of the coriolis effect. It’s synesthetic harmony of all these, somehow collected by the human ear.

It’s what I’ll hear when I turn the computer off.