Insomnia

I need to change my rotten ways. That is, I have to whip myself into working people's working hours. My dear employer has introduced a new performance monitoring system. Well, they reassure us it is not. But it is.Time allocation. I will have to turn in reports. Dear Empoyer, dear Academy of F, I present to you my whereabouts:

9.00-10.30: Sleeps (in bed).
10.30-11: Checks e-mails.
11.00-12.00: Talks to Y.
12.00-14.00: Is distracted.
14.00-15.00: Coffee.
15.00 - 16.00: Sleeps (in chair).
16.00-16.30: Works on dissertation.
16.30-17.00: Considers going home.

So, anyway. I try to fix my sleeping hours to a more normal schedule. It's a bitch. I try anyway. As soon as I lay me down to sleep, my mind wakes up. A huge span of awareness. My skin itches. My mind is hustle and bustle. My skin burns. Feet start tapping a rhytm. I try to calm myself down. I try to think of nothing. Impossible. There is a title of a book I try to remember. The author. Hattie... Hilda... Holly... Thoughs transform into physical entities, moving around the body. Who said thinking is in the head? There are thoughts in my feet and my hands and my stomach. Fucking ants. I start worrying. I float around on a mat of self-obsession. A bad lump. I summon it and it appears. Have I payed that bill? Should I go check the drawers? Cars driving by throw reflections on the wall. I look at these. The lightness of the room hurts the eyes. I listen to the hum of the heater. A creak. A click. Somebody is in the elevator. It's next to my wall. Next to my ear. I hear the rustle of a key. The door opening & shutting. I wonder what my neighbor has been up to. I tell myself not to think. Not of x. Not of y. Not of z. Not of motherfucking x. Keep it at bay. As I try to suffocate the thought, it reappears all the more insistent, all the more indubitable. Technicolor vivid. Try to think of neutral stuff. Swedish kings from 1300 to now. In a frenzy I have a go at it. Karl X Gustav. I've worked up a sweat, temples throbbing, bones aching. Gustav IV Adolf. Sheets wriggling, covers flying. My bed jumps up and down. As if on a storming sea. My body forms itself into different shapes. I twitch and turn. I'm sure I will never sleep again. What time is it? My mind grabs onto the subject of work. Arendt & Marx & me & alienation & what is politics, really. I shut that down. Fast. A melody appears. I try to suppress it, but it overpowers me. I try to remember how the melody goes. Is. That. ABBA. Yes. It. Is. I imagine dawn is drawing near. The wee small piss hours. I will never sleep and never rest.