Just had an extremely upsetting nightmare. And my insomnia continues. I’ve retreated to Mad House Coffee here in Las Vegas, a 24 hour refuge for students, night owls, and those winding down from a night on the town. The shop is virulently anti-Trump so I keep a low profile. The music’s good.
A philosophical question dogs me. Would any of us with crippling afflictions or problems trade them for someone else’s? Would I exchange places with an amputee, with the guarantee of no more nightmares? It’s argued that all of us would stay as we are, with familiarity winning over the unknown of a new life. Hmm.
A trade tempts me, at least in theory. There’s no way of transference, of course, of exchanging a mental problem with a physical problem with someone else. But the idea follows me. The larger question is what is worse? A physical or mental problem?
I’d draw the line on help with others. Right now, I can take care of myself. I’ve arranged my employment where I can do my writing mostly on my own time. I couldn’t hold a regularly scheduled job with my nightmares and chronic insomnia, But in the present, I can sleep here and there throughout the day and eventually wind up with eight hours. If I had to depend on someone else I wouldn’t trade conditions. I couldn’t be a burden to someone else.
So, there the question sits. For now. For now, I return to writing my book. Or I’ll do my blogging for trial lawyers. Perhaps there is a terrible accident in Illinois or on Florida’s Treasure Coast that needs writing up. At one-thirty in the morning the music is good.
Artwork below is on display at Mad House.
