, , , , ,

Yorick's Answer to Hamlet

Hamlet's Biggest Question

I don’t know where my fascination with staying awake comes from. I guess you could say my sleep schedule is royally Franked right about now. I’ll be lucky to fall asleep before 6 AM these days, and even luckier to wake up before 3 PM. That leaves me a good 15 hours to get things accomplished during the afternoon, midday, twilight, night, midnight, dawn, morning…

I suppose I should go to bed now. I feel a storm-a-brewing. No strong winds or flash floods, no nothing like that–just an angry swarm of yawns. I expect them to come like locusts and eat everything in sight. They’ll start at the face, covering every inch of it, and then will work their way down into full sleep paralysis.  And when I am fully covered, I’ll be able to slip away from myself and imagine that I’m on a blood soaked battlefield getting stabbed, that I’m bailing my best friend out of jail, or that 28 years has passed since I last felt desire.

Tomorrow I’ll eat the locusts with honey toast and raspberry jam, and maybe a glass of milk. That’s always the best way to wash that sort of thing down. I look forward to it now. And then I can begin my productive cycle all over again.

"To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
must give us pause: there's the respect
that makes calamity of so long life..."


To die, to sleep; To wake up at the ripe hour of 3 PM and devour my breakfast.