Whenever I can’t sleep and that is often, I lie on my back, staring up at a ceiling blank and white as a sheet of paper. At these times, I try to imagine the ink-dark sky above my house, with its spattering of stars, inconceivably distant. Everything is all right up there always, I think not as if it is down here, where vague anxieties seem to infect my every circumstance. However, thinking about the sky doesn’t help. Moreover, the pillow beneath my head, the mattress beneath my body, never feel quite comfortable as I toss and turn. They irritate me, in fact, as if loose grains of sand littered the sheets. Repeatedly my mind replays scenes from my autobiographical movie: the old humiliations, the awkward encounters, the opportunities fumbled. In addition, my childish or adolescent memories rise up to tyrannize me all over again. With quickness, I wake up, well actually, I am already awake, but my mind continues to daydream, daydream about everything.
I have tried to medicate myself. I favor herbal concoctions green tea or, better, vicodian and they work for a night or two, and then stop. A week later, I will try them again, and they’ll work for a night or two then stop. I don’t know what my problem is, unless it’s that I don’t really want to sleep. Perhaps I’m afraid of those blank, unconscious hours afraid I’ll miss something or annoyed by the silly, confounded dreams that drain away so quickly from my waking memory. (Trying to hold on to them is like trying to hold water in my hand.) Probably my mind is the problem.
The Essay on Where Does The Body Stop And The Mind Start
... Epistemology. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.2005. available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/descartes-episte mology/ Mind-body problem. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Available at ... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_mind-body_problem The Mind-BODY Connection: Granny Was Right, After All. The Rochester ...
As I lie in bed, my head is a hall of mirrors, reflecting an unceasing parade of daily predicaments they flash through my memory like over-exposed snapshots. Moreover, I think, “I should have done this; I should have done that.” I tell myself to stop thinking so much. Then I become much too aware of the night sounds around me. Down the street, a dog is upset. A cat yowls in the alley like an angry baby. An ambulance howls urgently, as if in great pain, on its way to the hospital. In addition, somewhere, miles away, a train is rumbling its lugubrious way down the moon-silver rails. Click, clack, click clack. Then came that long, deep horn blast: Get out of my way! The noise scared me so that I woke up in church listening to the lord prayer and the organ music. A person may say that I need to learn to keep focus.
Eventually, the sky lightens, and I start my trivial day: wash, dress, eat, and catch the bus. All around me, the city is creaking back to life. The sun glares brilliantly, exposing every crack in the sidewalk. In addition, thousands of people are moving in jagged lines, on the way to somewhere, eyes open but expressionless, as if sleepwalking. I know how they may feel about there life. Going to work, sitting down at your desk with your 20-year-old computer staring at you, and the sound of your neighbor jaw popping as he eats his granola bar, is the last thing that is on a person’s mind.
Years ago, I used to spend the last part of my summer vacation with my uncle and aunt. The year of 1995 was no exception. As a continuation of a long-ago-established tradition, we decided going to Lake Lurlen – a small, picturesque tourist town at the seaside, located in the south part of Alabama. On the 27th of august, early in the morning we went to my uncle’s car with the entire luggage, prepared to leave grandmother’s house and spend a nice, relaxing vacation, far away from the problems of the Big City and the life itself. Unfortunately, the unpleasant surprises started from the first second of our vacation. To our great disbelief the two front tires of the car were missing, and as later became clear, stolen during the night so at this moment the car was lying on the pavement, like a big wounded animal. I remember that my aunt said that this ought to be an omen of bad luck, warning not to go against your destiny and luck. After several hours repairing the car we, eventually, headed on, ready, for what turns to be the worst vacation in my entire life.
The Essay on Vacation Road Car Packed
It was a different kind of road trip. Somehow I knew not to ask, "Are we there yet?" I don't think any of us knew where we would eventually end up that evening. My parents were doing their best to act like this was some type of family vacation. But mom was quiet (she never is), and the car was packed with odd items one would never take on a vacation. Most of what had been packed in the car were ...
Right when I thought I was going to have the worst vacation ever in life, Tim continues to pop his jaw and enjoy another granola bar. The granola bar crumbs trickles down his chin and onto his pants. The crumbs sit there for the majority of day. Just as I sit at my desk staring deeply into my 20-year-old computer while life drifts by.