i am getting excited over the prospect of sleeping tonight. i think of my bed. i think of the smell. my sheets wraped around me. hugging a huge pillow and rubbing my feets together. the cold bed slowly getting warm from my body heat. the feeling of losing control. of falling into a web you cannot see.

i think of night after night of sleeping. eyes closed. dead to the world. oblivious to things going on around me. uncaring.

it excites me to think of closing my eyes. to ignore everything. my ears are shut. i stop and i dream of nothing. for a moment there, you forget who you are. you become blind. you have no identity. only a sense of being. lying on the bed. breathing slowly. of maybe even that escapes me.

perhaps i am lazy. perhaps my love for sleeping is prompted by my desire to ignore reality.

i only very seldom sleep for more than 8 hours a day. i am not tired all the time that i look forward to times when i can sleep. i do not have insomniac. i do not sleep walk or sleep talk. i seldom if ever dream. i am the perfect model for sleeping.

come night time, i get excited. i think of sleeping. i envision myself as the direct opposite of haruki murakami's character in the story sleep. instead of being awake all the time. i want to be asleep. i want to sleep forever. but i don't want to be dead to do that.