The Insomniacs Dream...

In the dead of night, Insomniacs dream of dawn. I know this to be true. I belong to this unfortunate culture, this pathetic mass of people unable to slide into that comfortable space between waking moments. I wonder how my life might be different if I slept as the rest of the world did. Would I still be as curious about life? Would I still have all the time wanted to ponder questions that no one has ever asked me? I don't think so.
Maybe it's not as true as I thought. When I lie awake at night, I only wish for the dawn because it brings a second wind with it, the resetting of my inner clock, and ability to stay awake for another day. Perhaps the insomniacs dream is not dawn. Perhaps for some the dream is that of sleep, the dream of dreams itself. For me, however, the dream is that of an end to dreams, the need to never sleep again.

Oh sweet dawn of day, come bare me away to glorious new times where the wicked never rest nor do the righteous ever sleep. Oh merciful gods come give me a cure for this wretched disease o'er which I weep. My dear deities, I yearn for thee in the dark, whilst I chase spirits from my mind, awaiting the cries of the lark. Modern amenities, please give me my sweet solace. I need not to dream if I may wake to smell the callas.

In the dead of night, the Insomniacs dream of a dawn fulfilled or a dream destroyed.

Delireality

I've spent all day rational and conscious, aside from when I slept. The fact that I slept at all was amazing. Since sunday I've spent my nights in a semi-conscious fever delirium. My fever's gone down to almost nothing; my body is working again.
More importantly, I can think again, clearly, rationally.
Well, as clear and rational as ever I suppose.
I'm going to try to sleep tonight.
Failing that, I'll go for a walk and wait for dawn.

I've always been told that you should end things like this with a quote.
It gives it a bigger impact or something like that.
Just what that impact is, I couldn't say.

When you spend as much time as I did in a painful delirium, you begin to understand what a precious thing sanity is, however much you may have of it.

From George Orwell's 1984:
'How can I help it?' he blubbered 'How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.'

'Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'