Write. So brain can empty, maybe stop whirring – part 1
<p>I’m a part time insomniac.</p>
<p>Luckier than most insomniacs because while sleeplessness is frequent, it is thankfully intermittent. Not the endless tunnel of nightly tossing that chronic insomniacs endure.</p>
<p>Over the years, I’ve learned best not to fight it but simply get up and DO something – read, journal, sketch, reorganise my spices, that sorta thing. In my forties, I’ve even come to view these insomnia nights as my freakish superpower. After all, don’t we all complain about not enough hours in a day?</p>
<p>If I look back, the quiet of 3am is when I have gotten the most honest writing done. Some stories may be fiction, but the feelings? The feelings are real.</p>
<p><em>I originally wrote the following story as a farewell gift for my friend Jon who moved eight timezones in the wrong direction.</em></p>
<h1>‘Someone Like You’</h1>
<p><em>For Jonny Mac, the only person in the world who calls me Brain</em></p>
<p>“Well, this really sucks.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it does.”</p>
<p>I’m talking, of course, to my cortextual twin. Which in itself is plenty weird enough. But I’m also strapped to a gurney sloped at 36.3 degrees, a willing lab bunny in a study that will neither make me smarter, live longer, nor feel less crap.</p>
<p>As I lay strapped, an awkward passenger of my own curiosity, I’m lying face-to-face with a pale but not unattractive man.</p>
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