Sometimes, sleeping is just impossible. It’s 01:49 and I have plenty of things I need to do tomorrow. My brain just won’t stop grinding. And not being able to sleep, lying under the covers in bed, in a dark room, encompassing silence, thoughts slowly turning on themselves. It gives me a kind of claustrophobia. I have now problem with small, cramped spaces – on the contrary, I can even enjoy them. The feeling of being physically contained. But. Being trapped in my own head. It makes me feel like I’m loosing my mind.
I’ve learned that there’s no point in trying to force on the sleep. It won’t come. Sometimes I knit. Watch some stupid crime/murder show. Tonight, I finished copying all my blog posts from January for the archives.
I published 21 218 words in January. The last third of my Burkina Faso and Ghana adventures.
The only time that I’ve written a little bit more on the blog than that, was in July and August 2013. During my solo interrail trip through Europe. During no other month than those three have I written more since starting to blog in December 2006.
I’ve produced the equivalent of a couple of novels over the years, blogging. Not that the quality of what I’m writing is in any way publishable. I was just thinking. If a novel is what I would like to produce some day. Is all this blogging good, as in, practice for the day when I actually have an idea and the time to formulate it properly? Or is it a distraction? I satisfy a need through doing something easier and less challenging, when what I should do is focus this energy on a real story?
I have no idea. I only know writing prose is exhausting, and I don’t have that kind of energy right now. Especially not when I can’t sleep.
Katja Malmborg 