Like my mother, I wake up early. This sentence used to make sense. Increasingly, medical studies tell me that I don’t get enough sleep, that I need at least eight hours, that time is guaranteed in pills. I am struck by the idea that being unlike my mother might be as simple as taking a pill. Tired of hearing about my insomnia, friends urge me to take a pill or, at the very least, visit a doctor to find a solution. It all sounds a bit dangerous.

I have always taken a delicious satisfaction in knowing that if I could not be myself, I could at least be like my mother. Once, a rich man was asked why he did not have plastic surgery to correct the very ugly mole that covered half his chin. He replied, “I love my mother.”

But I am not sentimental. I like the distance of being like my mother. It proves that I am not yet her. I fear, also, that should I sleep through the night, my body might rebel and I might turn into her.

One thought on “#6

  1. I’m going back and reading these old posts. Your chit-backs with Teju are hilarious!

    This one strikes a cord for me because my friends are also tired of hearing about my insomnia. And hearing me say narcolepsy and sleep paralysis and I didn’t sleep last night, etc.

    Onward. To less sleep.

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