Luco, Insomniac

Sometimes I find I cannot sleep. Instead of dreaming, I am plagued with incessant worries. With questions that do not really have answers, questions that seem more like eventualities. Will the prison guard stop feeding me. Will she quit changing the water. Will she withhold catnip forever. Must all creatures suffer.

I know that the absurdity of life should amuse me, but when I cannot find the ease of sleep, I am unable to find any levity in mortality. Instead I cannot stop myself from imaging the myriad ways I might die.

Poisoned by cat food. Run over in the street. Left to starve. Strangled by my roommate in the night. Feline Leukemia. Choking on a splintered tuna bone. Electrocuted by television wires. Some unique and shocking disease.

Insomnia, therefore, allows me to be alive in a unique way. Never am I more conscious of the fact that I am living than when I lie awake, staring into the void, trembling in fear.

There is no respite from suffering.