Sleepiness

 Time slowed down. Time felt heavy. It felt viscous. It flowed like honey out of a jar, in a dreary ooze, almost reluctant to pass by. My eyelids felt the weight. They quivered under the burden, occasionally giving in and falling over my eyes, which sported bright red lines on the edges; a clear sign of the weariness that had accumulated over the hours, the creeping seconds and minutes.

I had to fight the intense urge to give in to my eyelids' stubbornness. A repetitive back-and-forth ensued. Both sides stayed unrelenting in their respective pursuits: one yearning for respite from the exhaustion the body had been subject to; the other desperate to avoid the certain embarrassment that yielding now and falling asleep at my desk at work on a Wednesday afternoon would result in.

It wasn't the first time I was witnessing this standoff. In fact, it happened more often than I can count, especially as of late. I could attribute it to the late-night phone calls with my girlfriend, Niharika. She was studying in Sonipat: a remote village tucked away in Haryana, where the sole beacon of significance, much to her chagrin, was the university itself. She complained about her severely curtailed freedom and the sheer lack of excitement within the walls; and I listened to her, putting on my most understanding front and fighting off the outreaching tendrils of sleep.

My attempts to coax Niharika, to make sure she knows I'm there for her and convince her that she will be able to get through this seemingly endless nightmare known as Jindal University's Organizational Psychology Program, while effective, rob me of the much-needed rest and recovery my body requires. A dilemma indeed, but I knew that there was no getting around it, considering my track record of slacking off when it came to keeping in touch, replying to text messages and giving timely updates to those who cared. It is a tag I was trying to squirm my way out of carrying, and it undoubtedly caused me immeasurable embarrassment when confronted. 

None of this changes the fact that I am irrevocably in love with the woman. Truth be told, me staying up is a testament to this reality. She is the most angelic presence i have had the pleasure of coming across and i thank my lucky stars every night that she fell in love with me. What she saw in me, I'll never really know, but I am grateful for having her with every fibre of my being. Hence, the late-night calls to make sure that she knows how much she means to me, and to have the pleasure of falling asleep to her soothing voice. Perplexingly, I have come to like the feeling of responsibility that comes with it and the looming reality of adulthood doesn't seem to terrify me anymore.

As the battle waged on, dreamy, disjointed thoughts floated in and out of my head. Was my insistence on hitting the gym every morning a contributing factor? Maybe. But then again, my workouts also helped me fall asleep at night, I debated. It was a half-hearted line of questioning, to begin with. I knew that not working out, not having an hour of my day circled out for the gym was never an option. Not with my body complex; not while knowing the shattering blow my confidence would take if I were to ever find myself struggling to get into my size 34 denims. All the scratching and clawing it took to get to the point where I could accept myself and my body could not go in vain. 

Not working out was never an option, I thought as my head lay in the palm of my hand, elbow resting on the eggshell-white plywood desk, eyes covered: a feeble attempt on my part to hide the vexatious predicament I found myself in from my coworkers around me.

Perhaps it was the job itself? Rather the lack of it, at times. I had been working at Ascent Decor for the past year but I would be lying if I said it hadn't felt like a lifetime. It isn't that I hate work. On the contrary, I loved being engaged and the feeling of importance that comes with making a tangible contribution. It was everything else that came with it: the early mornings, the unending commutes, the ageing and out-of-touch workforce, the communication struggles with my father (do not get me started on that), the frustratingly dated approach to business. 

But i could put up with all of that, I had learned to work around it. The one thing I wasn't able to reconcile with is the mundaneness on the days when I wasn't as occupied. The sheer boredom of it all consumed me entirely in those moments.

I rubbed my eyes, picking at the corners in an effort to draw out tears: an effective method to ward off the zizz and buy myself a few more seconds of lucidity. It wasn't the first time I was witness to this epic standoff, and I had worked out some simple yet effective tricks to snap myself awake, even at the bleakest of times.  

Did I feel burnt out? It is a question I was afraid to ask myself. I feared what my response would be. Moreover, would a response really even mean anything? The circumstance i found myself in may not have been of my choosing entirely, but it was certainly one that did not have clearly marked exit routes. This isn't to say I feel trapped, rather it's an acknowledgement of the illusion of choices and how powerless we truly are most times: puppets controlled by the strings of faith and destiny, playing the part that was expected of us, never truly in control.

I felt myself drifting, ever so slowly, just creeping, into the warm, comfortable arms of sleep, even as thoughts raced through my mind. It seemed like the battle had reached a conclusion, the indomitable foe my consciousness faced had overcome the defences I had put forth, hurtling past my barricades, running me over with its full force. The slithery silence with which it had crept up on me was juxtaposed by the overwhelming impact and vigour it drowned me with. Vividly abstract musings flashed across the bridge of my thoughts, in a seemingly randomized and entirely meaningless manner, depicting no signs of rationality or sense. 

Niharika's smile, as I noticed her ever so perfect teeth. Slowly drifting. Floating. Slowly.

And if only we were allowed to drift. To be free. To fly into these fairytale wonderlands we build in our heads, with utopian versions of our lives where we can be who we want and live how we want, and for those fleeting moments live the lives of, quite literally, our dreams.

But reality is a cold mistress. It's strange how we consciously reject these arms that provide us comfort, fighting it off with every molecule in our being, struggling hard to flee from solace. I snapped myself awake, as I felt the warm embrace wrap around, as I felt myself falling deeper and deeper into a cozy slumber. I did not know which side I was on anymore. What, after all was said and done, is the point of it all?

My eyes felt like coarse bowling balls in my sockets: heavy and rough, as if the weariness resided in them, settling in with its hefty and prickly presence. A nauseous feeling of existential dread consumed me, as I leaned over my desk, staring at the laptop screen with what seemed like gibberish floating on it.

Arms were raised. Soldiers at the ready. An inaudible, invisible command from Hypnos, and the battle resumed.