THE INSOMNIAC DAY 53 by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Turn. Toss. Curl in blanket. Smell of an undying fabric softener emanates from my pillow, the soft splattering of rain becomes louder and louder each second. My hair is now covering my face, almost strangled by it after my routine morning yawn. I brush it behind my ear with my index, reach for my phone, barely opening my eyes. The light from my screen is blinding, I squint a little to make out the time; its 2:47 am.

I am wide awake. It’s the fifty third day and I still find trouble sleeping. Disordered sleep pattern? Perhaps. I usually stayed up until noon clocked in then sleep overcomes me unfortunately due to classes and extracurricular activities, the bed is usually just a state of mind. Throughout the day I would be cranky and on the verge of a breakdown. My mind would process things faster and people’s actions or my actions would be slower by a whole notch. The frustration could kill.

I slept three hours today.

“You are improving” I say to myself while making a cup of coffee. The previous night I slept for an hour and thirty five minutes. I had a rough day afterwards, skipped an afternoon class when a migraine kicked in. The irony of drinking coffee when you can’t sleep, but for some reason, it makes my brain tire faster. Plus other beverages like tea do not fancy my taste buds and hot chocolate taste like sand mixed in water, I won’t even begin with porridge.

The coffee hung heavily in the air, it was ready, I preferred boiling instead of using a coffee maker. It gave it a more refined taste and its scent when ready was purely nerve calming. It was hotter than I usually make it and smelt a bit like roasted nuts. Perfect. I was fond of my mug; it had a nice grip, its curvature allowed it to settle perfectly on my lower lip and was the perfect size; not too big, not too small. It lasted me the whole night and sometimes I wouldn’t even finish it. I slurped to taste the sugar content, it was just enough to get me going to the dentist by end month, nothing spells out perfection like a cup of hot coffee opening up all cords.

I sit down for a minute, my room is chilly, probably the window is open and mosquitoes have become my roommates of late, pesky little annoying bugs. They must be looking for hideouts. This aggravates me, I shake my clothes to make them more disrupted, I walk around with a slipper in my hand, jump on my bed trying to reach the furthest part of the room, and throw pillows hitting the ceiling. This shenanigan goes on for half an hour. The wall suffers a blood bath, one of the pillow hangs loosely on the edge of the bed, my slipper is lying upside down on the floor next to the dustbin. It’s a mess. I reach for my coffee, my right palm filled with traces of blood and mosquito parts, I am their Adolf Hitler now. Bow down mosquitoes. I smear on one of the dirty laundry but it doesn’t help. I start drinking with my left hand. Its 5:30am.


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