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(re)discovered

May 25, 2010

I write this as I lay in bed.  A place whose value I recently fell back in love with.  A simple pleasure that finally replenishes what I leave with the world every day.

It seems as though, after 4 years of collegiate schooling, heartbreak, anxiety, and exhaustion, I had forgotten exactly how to sleep.  I’d completely lost any semblance of what it meant to lay my head to a pillow and somehow begin a new day better than the moment I closed my eyes the night before.  For the longest amount of time, for me, to sleep was to wander aimlessly.  It was like a trip that had to be taken but was guised as a scenic route, perhaps a softer part of the day but still a difficult excursion.  Sleeping only served as a means of temporary dementia from the anxieties of the day before and the hopeful apathy for the ridiculousness ahead of me.  I was never blessed with the beauty of frequent journeys into dreamlands.  I closed my eyes only to find myself on the verge of opening them again.  Never rested.  Never satisfied.

In the past few weeks, I’ve found some resemblance of what I used to believe it was to sleep.  Rest.  I dreamt for the first time in what seemed like months, ten days ago.  Granted it carried a plot I woke up to find disappointingly fictional, I still dreamt.  I dreamt and I felt.  I indulged in it.  I awakened amidst an emotion. I couldn’t have asked for a more accessible pleasure.  I’ve rediscovered the beauty in rest and have taken full advantage of reacquainting myself with this old friend.  A thunderstorm led to a beautiful nap aided by a soundtrack of rain and Amel Larrieux.  A belly full of sushi was rewarded with an impromptu rendez-vous with my couch and pillow.  Each slumber met with a new and welcomed feeling of awakening.  I’ve never been more appreciative of this gift of daily fatigue or happier to satiate its teases and revel in its resolve.

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