2001-08-30 - 12:45 p.m.

spring cleaning of the soul

i cannot even begin to tell you what a curse insomnia is. i feel like i know all the bumps and shadows on the ceiling of my bedroom better than i know my own face. the dips and swirls of plaster texturing, in the dim light of the street light filtering through the blinds. this is the topography of my own personal hell.

i feel like a dish-towel that's been sitting, unwashed, on the countertop for years. like a forgotten throw-rug, or a bathroom floor mat. i feel strained and over-used, and soiled by neglect.

i need a spring cleaning of the soul.

i need someone to take me to the river and beat me against the rocks, to drag me across the ridges and bumps of a wash-board, to hang me on the clothes-line and beat me with wire beaters.

i need a hearty scrubbing in scalding water, and then a long, quiet rest.

of course, a beer wouldn't hurt either.