tavie.com

I'm so confused...

I was wandering around the apartment, sleepy but unable to let myself go to bed without finding something in this dusty library of insanity that I am remotely interested in reading. I was picking up and dropping books left and right... The Twenty-One Balloons, The Naked Civil Servant, Zen in the Art of Archery, Orlando; Robertson Davies, D.H. Lawrence, John Irving, Stephen Fry; everything looked interesting, and then I started to read it and my eyes glazed over.

Because, duh, dummy, you're so tired you can't keep your eyes open. (It's the fear of going to sleep again, which is the reason I need a book in the first place, so the last thing going through my head before I drop off can be fiction. What I really need is a shrink.)

Irony (?): after sitting dumbly on a folding chair in front of a bookshelf, tossing aside paperback after paper back, I finally stood up in despair (You've lost the ability to read for pleasure. It's over for good.) and staggered off towards bed. On my way I bumped my hip on that little triangular bookshelf next to the piano. Almost caused an avalanche. Didn't. But that's how I managed to notice that fucking book that I've been going mad looking for all week. Just sitting there on top. I probably put it there absent mindedly a week ago and then had a complete memory wipe and spent the rest of the week tearing the apartment apart looking for it? And it was there all the time?

Which brings me to the bit that's frightening me:

These memory lapses, this inability to concentrate, this fear to sleep, this constant, daily misplacement of things:

Why is my brain rotting? Am I sick? What's wrong with me? Do I need a doctor? Do I have a disease? Are these symptoms of something? Help me?

I was not always like this.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:37 AM | shower me with attention