It's been the same from the morning -- grey and dull. 7'o clock looked like 7'o clock. 10'o clock looked like 7'o clock. So did 11 and 12 noon. 2'o clock in the afternoon still looked like 7'o clock. And things weren't different at 5 or 6 in the evening either. In short, time came to a halt at the dreariest of hours.
He went back to sleep. That must be an overstatement. He tried to go back to sleep. Actually, he hadn't slept a second in the last four days and three nights. Not that it was uncommon for him. Such bouts of sleeplessness regularly haunted him.
But this time was different. His loneliness compounded the stress. His roommate was no longer there. Not that it really helped him in getting sleep, but somehow the presence was rather comforting. Can't blame him either. Why wouldn't someone want to go for a week long trip to Manali with their girlfriend?
His roommate had invited him, but he turned it down. Why? He liked self-flagellation -- of an emotional kind. He believed that such torture helps him recover from much greater heartbreaks. And he had a lot of those. And he didn't want to suffer those anymore. And he wasn't gonna stop risking another relation so he could escape from such torture either. The best of two things often gets you in a ditch. But he was willing to climb.
He pulled the curtains tight. The damned light still managed to somehow wriggle its way through sides unreachable for the curtain. He wished he had one of those thick iron shutters to pull down.
He flopped down onto the bed. He felt that the coil inside the mattress sprang up to pierce his back. The feeling was so real, he got up from the bed. He ran his palm over the mattress for the fifth time that day. No. It was all his imagination. He tried to convince himself.
He flopped down onto the bed -- again. Masturbation is supposed to help you get sleep. Will it work now? It didn't work the last five times. He was willing to try again. He pulled the laptop close to him and switched it on. Its bright screen melted his pupils. Argh. He squinted. He typed the url into the browser and waited for the page to load. His loins ached as the pictures on the screen started working his hormones.
Half an hour later, he was still awake.
Now what? TV? Music? Books?
He picked up the magazine lying next to him. He'd already read it thrice. Another time should not hurt. Especially if he could get some sleep. He picked up the magazine and realised why he hated it the last two times. Its frame always collapsed. What was it made of? Banana skins? He folded the magazine by four and started reading the editorial. It sure was boring, but not really soporific.
He picked himself up from the bed mouthing inanities. His living room was clean, but not exactly comfortable. For start, his furniture was cane. Still, he managed to crumble his 6ft frame into the 4ft wide sofa. He switched the TV on. Click. Not interesting. Click. Not interesting. Click. Not interesting. Click. Not interesting. Not feeling sleepy, either. His eyes grew tired, but not in a way that put him to sleep.
He went back to the bed. Now what? He picked up his laptop again. If he wasn't getting any sleep, might as well do something useful -- he thought. He opened his blog and started writing a new post. What should the title be? Like it matters. That's not a bad title. 'Like It Matters' -- he typed. And then he started writing about his evening, the cloudless sky and everything.
Wow, that worked! He thought as he woke up the next day. He took another look at the post he wrote and published it.