I can't remember a single night where I happily fell asleep. When I was young I hated going to bed. Mainly because it was too early, or because I had nightmares and froze into a scared statue of a kid, when the lights were turned out.
Now that I think about it, I actually did enjoy falling asleep when I was very, very little. I remember how my Dad used to tell me stories and my sister and my Mom always sang for me. I loved that, but I don't think that I was able to talk back then. So they never knew how thankful I was.
Now I'm here, in this great city, at this great conservatory and everyday is amazing to me. It really is, but every night the clock hits 2:00 am, and I know I have to go to bed now or I will act like a complete loser the next day. So I'm lying there, rolling around, grinding teeth, thinking, worrying, dramatizing. When I meditate it clears my head, but it doesn't make me tired. And joints are a lovely alternative, but as long as you're involved in a production or in a professional collaboration you can't smoke them either.
My roommates are coming home, one after the other. They were at a party or stayed out drinking in a pub somewhere. They are usually quiet and even if they weren't it wouldn't bother me. Sometimes they're a little drunk and stumble into doors or struggle finding the key hole. I keep listening to every move they make.
When I wake up I feel like I'm at the end of a roller coaster ride. I remember the dreams, the stories and how real they felt. Dream conversations echo in my head, while I'm making coffee, turning on the sequencer and checking my appointments.