The Cure to Insomnia

I have insomnia.

My doctor told me to exercise in the morning instead of the evening as I do now. He noted that exercising in the evening makes me pumped and excited. He told me, “sleep a little earlier, wake up early, workout, then go about your day.”

I put that to practice last Friday.

I woke up at 5:50 in the morning, 7 minutes before my alarm at 5:57am. I fell back asleep, dreamt through multiple lifetimes, and woke up 5 minutes later – still before my alarm.

Waking up wasn’t that hard. Because of the insomnia, I wake up every hour or so. I wake up with every creak of the stairs. I wake up with a car crawling by. I wake up to the birds, the crickets, the wind. So no, waking up wasn’t difficult.

The sun was just peeking out the horizon. The skies were still a dark blue grey.

Friday was legs and butt day. I loaded up my usual workout videos: Tone It Up and Blogilates. It was a little harder to pull through certain moves, like the single-legged deadlift and bridge butt-ups. My heart felt heavier and my body wouldn’t follow. But I did it. I finished a full 40 minutes of early morning workout.

The hardest part was getting over the mindset of, I’m gonna have to wake up before the sun and sweat balls before commuting an hour and a half to work. The second hardest part was getting myself to bed before 10pm. The last hardest thing will be doing this every single morning from this day forward.

Morning people, what’s the trick? How do you stick to the schedule?

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Wayne

Disclaimer: My dreams tend to be embedded with graphic imagery (mostly sexual). Read at your own risk/pleasure.

I stepped into my dream alone. I woke up and no one was around me. This place was quiet.

I was suddenly indoors, and he was standing next to me. Wayne had jet black hair that framed his Snow White skin. He spoke with such gentle voice, I thought he might fade away.

A new friend? I thought.

“I’m going to Webster Hall this weekend,” I told him. I was careful not to invite him. I didn’t want us to feel too close. After all, I had just met him.

“Webster Hall?” He questioned. “I could get you into Gotham.”

Gotham was the city’s number one spot: a lounge, a concert venue, an entertainment center. There were performers of every level. Only the wealthy and the VVIPs could get in. A commoner like me would never be able to see the colors that paint the walls of the luxurious club.

He didn’t wait for my answer. His finger glided over the numbers on his phone and spoke quietly to the person on the other line. I couldn’t catch what he said. He then hung up, held his phone victoriously in the air and said, “All done.”

“Will you be there?” I asked, immediately realizing how childish that question seemed.

He smiled and it melted my mind. “Perhaps now I will be.”

Blackout.

Wayne invited me over to his house. I arrived, only to realize it was a mega-mansion. Who was this man, really?

The door was open so I let myself in. I don’t remember much. Perhaps the place was too wildly extravagant even for my imagination. I do remember a textured glass wall dividing the common area from the kitchen. Intrigued, I followed the perimeter. I made out two figures on the other side.

“Why won’t you let me care for her?” It was Wayne’s voice.

An older woman’s voice replied, “But Wayne, have you really thought about it?”

His mother.

Were they talking about me? He wants to care for me? Does he have feelings for me?

How was he so wealthy?

“I will care for her,” his voice softly echoed.

I’ve stepped into the middle of an intimate conversation. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I inched away as quietly from the semi-transparent wall.

Wayne turned the corner and caught me. He wore an all-black tuxedo that framed his porcelain skin even more. He looked so well groomed, so beautiful. I wanted to touch his face.

My cheeks suddenly burned from such a bold thought.

Blackout.

We sat next to each other. We sat so close, I thought my skin was going to burst into flames from being so close to his white hot skin. But I wanted to touch him anyway.

“It’s terminal,” he muttered under his breath.

He was dying, fast. No wonder he looked like he was going to disappear into thin air.

“Do you want to do this?”

Yes, I want it more than anything. I want you more than anything.

I was in love with him.

The End

A scroll mounted on a white wall. I touched it and it rolled open. It revealed a long knife with a purple handle. The glowing engraving read:

The end is in one month.

My own blood-curdling scream woke me up.


I dreamt of my grandmother the night before. In my dream, she was growing young. Her hair was cut short. A pixie cut. She wore my duster coat. “You look stunning 할머니,” I told her.

What will end in one month? The summer? My insomnia? Our world?

I’m afraid of what it means. I’m afraid that my prophecy dream will come true.

I Died

I had a dream.

I had a dream that I was looking at Dennis and he was staring back at me. I smiled and he smiled back. The sun was shining down on us and the summer air smelled sweet.

Time was slow.

Then a little slower.

I noticed a police officer behind Dennis speed walking towards me. He reached for the gun to his side as he looked at a distance behind me. His eyes widened.

S l o w e r .

Dennis looked over my shoulder. He dropped his smile. His hand quivered over my body, trying to cover me. I thought I saw a sweat drip off the tip of his nose.

S  l  o  w  e  r  .

I looked over his shoulder at the police officer. His hands were already wrapped around his gun. He pointed to a target behind me and yelled something I could not understand. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned my head to w a t c h  t h e  b  u  l  l  e  t   f  l   y   .

I heard a loud crack over my head. I felt a shocking sensation running down my spine. Then, nothing at all. I opened my mouth to scream, but could only scream of silence. Everything went to black and I opened my eyes to the dawn of my room.

This is not the first time I’ve experienced my own death in a dream. I die every year. I have drowned at sea. I have fallen off a waterfall. Asphyxiation. Loss of blood.

I am an existentialist romantic. I can’t stop thinking about all the romantic ways Death will sweep me off my feet.

This will surely be my demise.

Seattle

It was night in Seattle.

The skies illuminated against the structured city lights. Buildings grew taller as I inched closer to the window. I took in the floor-to-ceiling view from the penthouse. I breathed on the glass and watched the paradise fog up before my eyes. The sight made my heart skip a beat.

The streets looked so new compared to what I had back home. The air smelled mintier. The mountains stood more prosperous. Even the stars seemed to sing louder.

I love it here, I whispered to the moon.

I looked to my left, over my shoulder. There he was, standing tall with his jet black jacket fading into the dark of the night. I approached him shyly.

I love it here.

He turned slightly and stopped, as if to show off his chiseled jawline. “Do you want to move here with your family?”

Yes, I love it here.

Making the Same Mistakes on Repeat

He and I decided to separate and stay single for a week or two. We wanted to focus on ourselves for a bit. We promised to not let anyone else into our lives for that time being. This was a time to grow, to expand, and to become better for one another by focusing on our own goals and ambitions.

It was a bright moment. I had plans to build on my future career path, to spend time with family, to clean up my mind and my life.

I was inspired.

But then I saw him. My plans fell through. I fell backwards. I fell into darkness. My goals and ambition disappeared. I lost all self control.

He asked if I wanted to go with him.

To where? I asked.

Anywere you want, he coaxed.

I said, yes.

I let him take me by the hand. I let him hold my body. I let him kiss my lips.

I suddenly remembered the promise I made to Him. The promise to not let anyone else in my life. The promise to better myself for myself, by myself. Guilt ran over my body and I felt weak for not being able to stick to my words. For not being able to put into action the phrase I whispered to him so often: I love you.

When He asked if I was able to better myself, I lied and told him yes. When he asekd if there was anyone else involved in my life, I lied and told him no. I was stuck in a loop of the past, making the same mistakes over and over and over.

How do I step off of this nightmare?