2:46 am that’s what my phone displays innocently but I don’t view it as such, it does not appear innocent to me, it must have something to do with my insomnia. That’s what insomnia does to you, it makes you cynical, and you feel that someone is responsible for this, someone must have conspired with your phone’s timer. Everybody is guilty; ancestors, the Chinese, corruption, ISIS, the opposition, Donald Trump, even a friend you beat in a math’s test in kindergarten. Everybody, anything and everything! This is the time you consider sourcing for a gun.
I have been rolling in bed for about half an hour which means I probably lost sleep around quarter past 2 only having slept for less than two hours. I walk to my coffee table (I don’t live in a mansion so this is a short walk) and reach for my laptop all the while avoiding the switch. I don’t want to put the lights on because this will kill my remaining hope to find sleep if at all there’s any. I light up my keyboard and type “the effects of sleeping pills” and Google happily gives me almost two million results. I click on the first link and there goes “…between a third and a half of Americans have insomnia and complain of poor sleep”. Now am convinced that someone is really behind this; I am not an American, never been to America, would probably be a hummingbird if I lived in America and yet am part of an American statistic.
I don’t know whether it’s the insomnia or I just heard my neighbor snort. Now that’s when you realize where you live. So close to your neighbor that he knows how often you eat meat, how often you fornicate and your favorite color (from your underwear). He even knows you have a good luck underwear and when you wear it, someone’s daughter will be an accomplice to a not so bad yet not so good crime biblically speaking. So as you walk out in the morning and he’s behind you as you both walk down the stairs he spits out “Seems today will be a loud night (it sounds more obscene in Sheng)” and you’ll just laugh not getting the drift, after all, Kenyans have weird ways of saying good morning.
Am yet to conclude whether my neighbor snorts or am just jealous of people who fall asleep like 3-year-olds. People who fall asleep within three minutes of getting into a comfortable position not even waiting for the scientific seven minutes. You despised people who sleep in matatus but now you envy them, you wish you could sleep anytime you wanted too. I wouldn’t wish insomnia on my daughter so any girl who sleeps in matatus, please reach me by commenting below and I wish your genes are more dominant than mine. I am tall, dark and handsome, hehe kidding I am tall, insomniac and sarcastic.
Someone may suggest that I could read, watch a movie or write when insomnia comes calling, Sam here suggests that I should go out and jog, a morning run. Good and healthy idea there Sam but I don’t live in Brooklyn, there is street lighting of course but I live in a Gotham of sorts and I am afraid that there could be a psychopath lurking somewhere in a dark alley planning to have my balls for breakfast. Not that I have such sweet balls, could be, I don’t know but I am convinced they are more comfortable in my underwear despite the conditions there than in someone’s plate. Reading is a wise idea too but the reality about insomnia is that however much you can’t find sleep your eyes are still heavy with what seems like it (let’s call it sleep’s twin cousin) and this is the maleficence that comes with it; every time you try to read, your eyes become heavier and there’s a pinching ache on your eyeballs, so painful you can touch it and for some moment you are assured that you got back your sleep but this is just insomnia’s way of saying;
Let’s play pretend; I go first, let’s pretend you got your sleep back
You laugh sarcastically at his poor sense of humor and when you are just about to say it’s your turn he goes all hahaha I got you there but don’t you think this is a silly game, let’s try truth and dare. Again I go first (I have this weird feeling insomnia is a he, it must be a he, the kind that tucks in their collared T-shirts)
I would write every night I had insomnia if I could but if I did, I would be complaining about how life has given me lemons and denied me the chance to make lemonade. All my pieces would sound like a death wish and nobody likes the taste of death or the sound of it. So I just sit there in my sleeping shorts and I have really ugly black sleeping shorts, sometimes I think they are responsible for my insomnia. This is when you realize that your thighs really look beautiful in the dark. In case the insomnia disappears, I will still set my alarm at 3:05 am to stare at my thighs in the dark.
Just in case you are wondering, there is no happy ending in this story. I finally decide I will buy the sleeping pills together with their effects but I am quite nervous. I am torn between seeing a doctor and getting the pills over the counter but seeing a doctor seems like a white thing so I finally decide I will buy the pills over the counter. I visit a chemist just around the corner, the pharmacist is a young man most probably in his mid or late twenties and the white coat looks good on him. He, however, seems unfriendly for his age and he asserts that he doesn’t have sleeping pills but then gathers some courage to tell me he has the pills but he can only sell them to me under prescription. I thought integrity is only an admirable quality among politicians. But he offers to give me a more common pill which is not as effective.
He prescribes 1*3 but I decide to take two to maximize ‘on the effectiveness’. Africans tsk! They don’t work! I don’t feel cheated or have an urge to go back to the chemist and reprimand the pharmacist but I feel I need to embrace this as my new condition. I decide I’ll treat insomnia like some new girl I meet in a bar, we share stares and develop some chemistry; she has these long legs and the ass of an American stripper. She is petite with long black hair and boobs worth melting for (I am a boob guy remember). I’ll take insomnia for coffee dates and try not hurt her feelings. I know I thought insomnia is a he earlier who has an ugly Mohawk and wears baggy jeans but now I think she’s leggy with Disney boobs. Yes, live with it!
So I decide to make this more than just a stare and walk from my end of the counter to hers. With this kind of girls, you don’t know whether to buy her a drink first or compliment her on her beautiful red dress but you definitely don’t start with a “hello I am Mark” because she must have met so many Marks, Marks with better chins and foreheads than yours. So I decide to flirt “My uncle’s grandfather told me there’s a path for everyone, mine led me to you.” “Is he still alive?” She’d ask with an inviting grin.
Peace and Love.