Hush little baby don’t say a word

and never mind that noise you heard

it’s just the beast under your bed

in your closet, in your head

— Metallica

I awoke this day surprised.

On two counts.

Normally upon stirring, I first plant one eye at least on the bold Balinese-like floral print curtain to my left. It hangs in a funky sorta way to reveal a peek of the pull-up blinds behind — you know, those tacky cheapo vinyls from Walmart.

Hey, it’s an apartment rental so I can’t be held responsible for the Budget over Aesthetics taste of the landlords.

Anyhow, behind the curtain and through the blinds my eye goes to that sliver of a space that reveals the state of the sky.

Now as I’ve written ad infinitum, the sky here is a dismal, dreary, depressing, depleting gray around 85 percent of the year.

I wouldn’t have to write ad infinitum about these dreadful downers if the sun would fuckin’ shine straight for a few months weeks days hours! Trust me, if ever that changes (it won’t) and this Pacific Northwest region becomes one of enjoyable, healthful, balanced sunshine and moonshine, light and dark (it won’t), you’ll be the first to hear.

Back to the eye peering between slats of the blinds behind the curtain to see whether the sky might actually be blue for a change.

That’s my normal morning routine. Except today.

This morning when I awoke, my first discovery wasn’t the suffocating pale gray above. It was the time on the clock.

Why, it was afternoon! Ten minutes past 12 to be exact.

Puzzled, I asked myself: How had I slept so late?

Then I remembered. Drugs.

My sleep for the past several months – actually since 2008 – has been so rife with the stress, worries, anxieties, concerns, fears, unease, dis-ease and terrors over the horrible economy and my own joblessness of two years plus that it’s a miracle if I catch 40 winks at all.

I don’t catch 40 winks. I catch 20. I catch ’em on the run. Quick lil’ buggers they are too. I hold ’em close to my chest. Caress them. Savor them. Coo to them of their beauty and desirability.

Some of the 20 stay through the night. Others decide that 15 minutes of cuddling’s enough. In an uprising, they bolt to wherever insomniac winks go. Probably some party down the street with boozin’ and fun chicks and black lights and Zepplin blarin’ until sunrise.

Eventually long stretches of restless nights, insomnia, regurgitating nightmares and general nocturnal emotional malaise take their toll. The entire body-life operation lists dangerously. Flashing lights warn Tilt! Tilt! Health declines. Ailments root and develop. All functions of mind, body, emotions and spirit cease to function in harmony and wholeness and as they should.

After all, how long can a car run when the oil stick reads empty, the coolant is gone and the engine is fueled by vapors from a depleted gas tank?

Not long. And not without consequences.

Drugs are the answer. For me, not the car.

Hence when I awoke at 10 past noon, I was really surprised. Not only that I’d slumbered as long as I had, a guesstimated nine hours, but without interruption! I was amazed at feeling rested. Clear-headed. Refreshed. Normal.*

*my normal

Drugs. When counting sheep, prayers, hot baths, steamy cocoa, online surfing, late-night TV infomercials, reciting the phone book white pages and watching paint dry don’t work.

Drugs. Give me drugs.

Better still, a job.

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