…from Virginia May, track 5 off Gregory Alan Isakov‘s latest, This Empty Northern Hemisphere
Over the last week I’ve gotten a grand total of eleven hours of sleep, for no apparent reason. Which really isn’t terribly unusual for me – I almost never sleep more than four or five hours in a night. But it’s not something to complain about, really. Insomnia runs in my family with almost as much bravado as good looks & a preternatural ability to recall National League batting averages. Plus, you get a lot of reading done. Three books this week alone. One of which I’ve drug across continents for the express purpose of five AM reading sessions, for six-plus years. And it still makes me feel like an artsy hipster douche.
But the bad thing about recurrent insomnia is the unsettling. The swings. Pillows thrown against walls. So last night, when a different book ended up in the corner, I went back to my old friend the blues, that same Isakov album, because really, this is a man who knows something about not sleeping…