Consciousness is its own blessing and its own curse.

It can give insights to higher knowledge and other worlds, or it can stew you in eternal Hell. I know I’d like to forget some things. Mostly I’d just like to get some sleep. The harder I try, the less I get. It’s one of those things that only come through NOT trying, but by allying oneself with some sort of natural flow. Not that I don’t like those moments of solitude, at least somewhat. Some of my best ideas come at 3am; the trick is getting it on paper so that I’ll remember it later. If sleeplessness would keep you slim and trim, that would make it a deal, but it doesn’t work that way, just the opposite. A little biofeedback on the bathroom scale in the morning can prove that. You’d think that being in your own home would give you the best sleep, but for me it seems to be the opposite. Seems I get my best sleep with a neon ‘Motel’ sign blinking outside, some of my best sex, too, for that matter. Forget the sleeping pills, though. I tried that when I was in traction and only had nightmares, historical nightmares, of armies attacking and refugees fleeing. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, tangled up in covers, and there’s my foot still hanging from the bedpost like a sacrificial limb.