There’s something to be said for being too tired to do anything. Many people find it deplorable to push one’s waking consciousness to the brink of oblivion, as if it were some drug or drink of choice for those plagued by guilt of sin… Wait, that’s exactly why I marvel in it so! There’s something to be said for anything that has the ability to make you forget who you are or why you’re up so late in the first place.
For a few moments before I fall asleep, there is an infinity. If I am lucky enough to wake up right after these fleeting moments, I vainly try to recapture the moment. The best I can describe it is a pure sense of black and smooth. A theory of this form isn’t something to be frightened of, for there is a sense of light permeating the blackness– it’s almost as if it’s a LCD display with a poor contrast ratio. And the smoothness reminds me of babies or peaches with little fuzzes. It’s all so perfect and nearly impossible to express in waking thought, let alone words.
I think I should be thankful for something every week, every day, and every time I can think to be thankful. Today, I thought about how wonderful it was that I was too tired to be upset or sad, or even happy or contemplative of happy memories. I existed, right before sleep, as nothingness. I am so thankful that I can become tired so easily; it’s a nice escape.