Draw Me Insomnia

A stream of consciousness response to Louise Bourgeois

Draw Me Insomnia

00:38

Born out of insomnia, the year 1995. The same year you completed 220 drawings. Ink and magenta pressed into a page clouded by sleepless thoughts.
As I lay here, I hear the edge of sleep. Everything is louder and clearer. But my mind is noisier still.

When I shut my eyelids the same blank wall stares back at me. It looms over me and insists I must sleep.
But I cannot.
Upon opening my eyes a sharp streak of light pours in from the window. Orange and fine, it cuts the darkness in half. I can feel its heat as it illuminates a long rectangular strip vertically across the bedroom wall. I know at this point I should probably cover my eyes and settle my breath, but the streak irritates me. I believe it’s caused by a small gap in-between the blinds and window that I must have not noticed. The saturation of colour stains my eyes.

I must attend to this.
Slowly I rise from my horizontal position, pause for a moment, and with it so does time. Everything is still.

I cannot help but think of you. How did you feel, a spiral of red biro following itself round and round. Swallowing your gaze and tracing your mind.

The orange light grows larger, a gash in my vision, bold and burning. An unnatural glow of orange. A fizzy orange.

It must be coming from the street lamp outside.

Fuck, I think. I have left the fridge door open!

I peel back the blind. Yes, there it is, the street lamp proudly stood maybe five metres or so from my window. It makes me wonder, as I tip toe down the stairs so not to wake anyone else.

It makes me wonder... What was I wondering... Oh yes! The f-r—treet lamp! Keeping me up!

I wonder who else is awake. If I manage to get at least four hours sleep , I will need to fall asleep by half past two, at least.

I DID leave the fridge door open. Luckily I was awake, can’t have warm milk, snug eggs. The yoghurt, that too would be useless.

If I manage to fall asleep at half past three, only three hours. Half past four, that’s two hours of sleep.

I sit down at the dining room table, the fridge light pours into the room. I see the milk, the carton of eggs (although, I don’t believe it is a full carton), the yoghurts. They all look so content, sat in their proper places, I suppose they must rest until breakfast time. There is a busy day ahead.

In the quiet, everything looks larger. Two litres of milk seems more like four. It intimidates me. I press my cheek onto the wooden table, it feels soft and cold.

1:02

What hour did you manage to switch off? And for how many? When was the turning point? Was there ever a moment you thought you’d be awake forever? At No. 174 , did you wonder how many more drawings you would make ? The clock face so bold in felt-tip stays stamped on my mind . The circled numbers only serving to highlight the dread of another unsuccessful hour passed. I imagine you sat at a table similar to mine, the sound of wet pen against dry paper. The satisfaction of the instant gratification drawing with biro or felt-tip pen has. A strong mark blemishing the white paper, as your brain ticks and whirls with no sign or suggestion of slowing. And somehow it comforts me, I am not alone in this moment.

I stand and walk over to the fridge and softly touch the carton of milk. It’s warm. Whilst closing the fridge door, I reach for the pen laying upon the

kitchen counter, The fridge door was my only source of light and now all I see is dark grey. For a moment I cannot tell if perhaps I am sleeping and perhaps this is the underside of my eyelids . No. Faint outlines of the kitchen furniture begin to soak through so I fumble my way over to the switch on the wall. Suddenly, the harsh white light of the kitchen rips its way through the room and stretches my pupils. I am most definitely not asleep. I grimace at the shock, adjust my eyes and grab my diary from the shelf . I can see everything. Everything. I see tomorrow, I see yesterday and feel this moment so thick and insistent. It forces me to stay here. It forces me to look. Eyes wide open.

The orange light from the street lamp outside my bedroom window . I’d like the orange light from outside my window, but if only it greeted my kitchen instead.

01:27
I sit down once more at the kitchen table and begin to write :

As I do so I feel a pull in my hand, the sharpness of a seven, the curl of an eight. I think of you, you have been here before. You understand this private aching hour.

The folds and meandering of each number holds my mind still and the monotony of each line quiets my thought.

For a moment I am peaceful.

Then, my gaping blind, the protruding orange beam tinging my once dull bedroom wall.

Who said you could?

01:47

Turn off please!! Please!

I put down my pen, turn off the light and follow the stairs up to my bedroom. Maybe I was wrong about the light. I am not sure that it was keeping me from sleep. A cordial glow outlines the door and somehow I feel safe, like I am walking into somewhere where I am known. That fuzzy orange glow, I also know you. Slightly hunched, I place myself at the end of the bed and glimpse at the corner of the street lamp. I lay back and stretch out my arms above me. It tinges my skin and in comparison to the white harsh lighting in the kitchen, it feels gentle.

A plant, with its leaves splayed out, like fingers of a hand the leaves spread themselves across the page. That is Number 154. This one feels more hopeful, a greeting , a welcoming, it doesn’t bully you into looking and staying. It sits there effortlessly. Etched into cardboard it releases itself. I hold the baton now. Thoughts tumbling around my mind. Trapped and on an endless loop night after night, hour after hour.

My chest slowly begins to feel heavy, a good sign. I feel weightless yet heavy. Now I must try and stay here. I do not squeeze my eye lids, I loosen them and they curve smartly over my vision. Curtains drawn across the theatre stage. I see the stacks of lines drawn again in biro slotted tightly within each other, I think of you once more.

To-do-list

o Sleep(firstly)
o Sleep(lastly)
o The whooshing of a fast car
o Scratch my left cheek
o Find a new spot for my hand to rest
o DidIturnofftheovenfromdinner
o No no I definitely did
o Shouldprobablycheckwhethermyfirealarmworks
o Tomorrow I need to be up at six thirty
o Figure out a way I could make that seven
o If I sleep now I wont need to
o Think of the navy seals – they fall asleep wherever and EASILY

o Maybe not easily but I hear they can and must o Guilt myself more
o Checkthetimeonmyphone
o It’salreadybeenhalfanhour

o Sleep!!
o Sleep
o Relax, its okay...
o Navysealbreathingtechnique
o Check my phone – Am I doing that correctly o I shouldn’t have had dinner so late
o Mystomachwhinesinagreement
o Please
o Pleadwithmyself
o Willsleep
oS
oL
oE
oE
oP