On The Nature of Distraction

It's strange how time seems to mean so little when you don't sleep. Supposedly, the body uses things like sleep to regulate our perception of an abstract, namely time. However, in this modern age of time-keeping pieces, sundials, and water clocks, that internalized system has become not only obsolete, but redundant.

I look at the clock on the computer. It says one thing, one thing which I could take as fact. However, the clock on my phone says a different, though similar thing. Do I take that as fact? Or how about the clock by my bed, reading an entirely different interpretation of time itself? Is that to be believed as correct? Or the clocks in the bathroom, one of which never changes, the other of which never stays consistent or still, the two in constant conflict?

Not that we can trust these external systems anyway. Even things which are considered givens, namely the day-night cycle, are inconsistent and improper as means of demarcating a concept: During the summer the time of light is longer than the time of dark, and vice-versa in the winter... but only in the north. And only sometimes. To the extremes, things normalize, with what essentially amounts to six months of light followed by six months of dark... months themselves only confusing matters more. And what of the equator, where day-night cycles are constant but there are no seasons to base other things off of, with the exception of a singular rainy season that lasts anywhere from one "week" to four "months" depending on the year and precipitation collection elsewhere, and the modification of various fronts of warm and cold air, not to mention global climate change?

My computer says 1:06 AM. My phone says 1:04 AM. The clock by the bed reads 1:29. The analog clock in the bathroom reads 6:00, while the digital clock flashes a steady 11:38 PM. Eventually these numbers will blur, and when the Witching Hour hits, it won't really matter anyway. The ghouls will come, their stinking breath and festering promises seeping through the cracks in the windows like an icy fog. Roiling and swelling and receding just as fast, they will pass, as they always do, though they ravage the streets of any poor sap that happens to be caught outside. The shutters will be down over the window, the locks secured, the lights on outside, though inside is only darkness.

And when you can't sleep, that darkness won't let you know you're failing in your singular Herculean task of human stability: sleep. If it weren't for the glow of this monitor reflecting off the pistol in my lap, I'd never be able to tell if I was awake or dreaming.

I never wanted to sleep to begin with; I just hope the dreaming is a few more hours away.

=Dr. Bones, Survivalist, 4 Years Post-Fall Log Completed, "1:10 AM"