letter of sorts

Sleep eludes me. Encore. And I say that in my very best droll French accent. I'm not sure why; blame it on delirium. In fact at this stage, all of life's musings seem to blur into a haze. As an act of desperation, I can think of nothing else to do but write to her majesty herself, Insomnia, and plea for my repose, in hopes she will be so kind to grant me even one day of partial shut-eye.

Dearest Insomnia,

Treasured companion of mine, how I know of your intentions. To your disappointment, my every whizzing thought is hardly catchable however. I do believe if we met somewhere in the middle, I would be more productive on the next round. Hear me out? Without you love, I wouldn't be, I couldn't be...my words simply couldn't parade together. It is in your wake I do my work, but your constant and incessant supervision is growing weary and, sadly, our relationship is becoming sour these days. And, if I may, while I'm being honest about matters, Mr. Nocturnal and I have been seeing each other behind your back to make up for your tyrannical ways. I'm sorry. I'm only asking for relief, brief relief...if you could be so kind. Let me close my eyes, let my mind be quiet: no stories, no thoughts, no needing to jump up and write down an idea, no toss, no turn, just still. I have about an hour and half left dear, what do you say...shall we?

Most probably forever yours,

jess