…there are times when even I am an insomniac.
And so, after a whopping amount of restlessness last night, it occured to me at about 3 or 4 a.m. that certain kinds of insomnia feel like one is clumsily using a hammer to sculpt mashed potatoes into an impervious, seamless cube of sleep. (I claim copyright on this descriptive formulation, incidentally…)
The body is the mashed potatoes, the perfect cube is some sort of Kantian thing-in-itself, a mind that refuses to take over. Or maybe it’s the other way around?
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Sculpting mashed potatoes… that’s a great formulation, by the way. I do know that effort, though lately, I must say, sleep has been like gravy to the mashed potatoes of my sleep, washing away (or rendering into dreams?) all Kantian aspirations in the process!
Gravy, eh? Yummy, it sounds like you’re making a delicious meal of your time, whether awake or asleep! That’s not a bad way to go about things, either…!
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