I’ve been doing some thinking. I always do that. When one is an insomniac, there is really nothing else to do when facing the ceiling. You might not always see the ceiling either, PHCN abi what’s their new name has the final say on that. I have long given up on the absurdity of counting to a hundred or so to induce sleep. There was also a time when the Bible used to do the trick. All I had to do to sleep off was to open the book. But that too has lost its magic.
I think of girls too. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t lead to what should naturally follow. Sex always gets me asleep. But even that is now a luxury. I am beginning to lose my mystifying factor. These girls are foolishly getting wiser. I am alone. It is a waste.
This particular bout of sleeplessness has lasted some long 72 hours. All remedy has failed. The only effect my age long malady ever has on me is that it gets my eyes swollen during the day. That is all. I don’t get cranky or exhibit any other insomniac tendencies. As a boy I dreaded the night. Back then, there was no intimate stimulant to aid me to sleep. I saw things and I heard things, and that was a terrible thing for a young boy with imaginations. I almost ran mad.
So now, I am awake. And as usual, everything I did during the day plays back in my head. The thoughts come in quick successions; the ones staying longer always have a girl in it. If the lady is fair and has good packaging she stays a little while longer. It had been a boring day so far. Nothing lasts in my thoughts. I try to make some calls. All the girls I know are suddenly deep sleepers. I wouldn’t be caught dead calling a guy at night.
There are certain things I have no control over. My thoughts come tops among then, then my eyes. I have never been able to drag my eyes off any good, trim, female hips. My thoughts rule itself. It does whatsoever it pleases. I have examined the matter many a time; giving my mind orders on what to think and what not to deliberate on. I get, always, the same result: It pays me no heed. I used to think my mind was my servant. But I perished the thought long ago. My mind is my master; it rules my day and night. My mind can pick a song line and cogitate on it for a full week. It will take up a subject in spite of me; it will stick to it in spite of me. It never fails me however, when its object of attraction is some particular red lipped fair faced lass with encouraging hips.
Try it sometime. Try to give your mind a command and see if it obeys. Haven’t you begged your mind to let go of a particular annoying line of song for days? I remember after I played my first game of Mortal Combat, that, my mind played it on for weeks to come. It is as I have said. The mind obeys only itself. And it is never blank. It would play mortal combat and all the fatalities, brutalities, animalities, sing songs and drive cars even while you sleep. There is nothing you can do about it.
So this night my mind keeps rambling and skipping along on its own accord. Presently, it alights on a very strange thought. I don’t know where it came from. There was no incentive. I had not gone to church or had any godly thoughts throughout the day. So where did my mind pick this subject from? It is a subject most men in their early to mid-twenties would rather avoid.
The subject is Heaven. Yes, that place.
My mind had prodded on the word, turned it about, and instead of moving along to other pleasanter matters, it rested on it. I cursed them both, my mind and Heaven. But as I had no choice in the matter I resigned myself to my thoughts. Let Heaven have its way.