your song and sleep deprivation

It’s 12:30 in the morning and I am wide awake. Tonight is no exception. This is the norm…

This is my life…

I have always been nocturnal. Though the military has done what it can to change that, It has been ineffective in its attempts. Do I get up and make it work at the time Uncle Sam prescribes, yes. Do I struggle to make it happen, no. Do I feel like a ghost most days, yes.

And that’s that.

I don’t know if this will ever change for me. When asked by my family how I am doing , ninety nine percent of the time my reply is “ I am good, just tired.” It seems I have been tired my entire life.

Aren’t we all?

Lately I have been taking notice of replies and reactions. Spying a yawn, or eyes hanging lower than the setting sun. Open, only wide enough to maintain some small sliver of coherence. This is the life we have chosen for ourselves. These are the lives we lead. And I speak not only of my military companions here in Iraq, for I see and hear it in others back home as well.

In fact, I am so tired right now that I do not even know what I am writing, yet that does not stop me from turning my computer off and going to bed. I will not lay haste upon such an important task as updating my blog. Never shall I be defeated by the demons of sleep. I will overcome. I will prevail.

So, here I am, twenty minutes later from when I embarked on this literary (no laughing) journey, with nothing more to show other than too many paragraphs explaining, and exploring, and imploring the thoughts of restlessness and fatigue.

The truth of the matter is that I don’t want to turn my music off. It is my escape. I get so “into” my music that I cannot fall asleep while listening to it. I get so wrapped up in the words being sung, embraced by their beauty, that I cannot fall asleep. Each melody transporting me to another place. Every chorus reminding me of another time. For example.

Sam Beam is whispering in my ear… weaving a tale of a young woman by the name of “Jezebel”, while majestically taking me to the East Village of Manhattan. Every time this song touches my ears I do not find myself in Iraq, I am in New York City. It is October. I am walking down the street with my good friends Joe and Christine at 3 o’clock in the morning* with aspirations of getting a tattoo. And, we’re singing “Jezebel” at the top of our lungs! We would have sung all the way home had we not stopped at Crif Dogs and stuffed our mouths with cheese fries and Chihuahua’s. (I assure you no animals were harmed in the making of that evening. Put down the phone. PETA, nor the SPCA need to be called. )

* (See paragraphs above for previous commentary on my sleep deprivation.)

Now Sufjan Stevens is crooning about a shadfly that is caught in Bobby’s hair. Does that mean anything to you? No. Do I care about Bobby or his shadfly? Not a bit. But, I can tell you this… My wife hates Sufjan Stevens, and reminds me of it at the very mention of his name. Perhaps, to me, that is part of his charm. Not that I like to torture my wife with my music collection, but every time I hear his voice I can’t help but smile and revel in the fact that if Stacey was sitting next to me she would be rolling her eyes and begging me to change the music.

And for a moment she is here, by my side.

Am I trying to say that music is what is polluting the psyche of humanity and the cause of the aforementioned universal fatigue? Absolutely not. I am just telling you why I can’t sleep tonight.

See you should have listened to me earlier when I said that I have no Idea what I am writing right now. For some reason, tonight I felt so inclined as to let the iPod run and set my fingers free, typing at will. This is what you have now been subjected to. The incessant ramblings of a sleepless sailor lost in a sea of sand. (Say that 5 times really fast!)

Yes, I am a dork. I know this.

Okay, now where was I?

Music.

Right.

So…

As cheesy as it is, I watched the film “August Rush” this evening. Please keep in mind that I had no idea what the movie was about before watching it. However, as cheesy and emotionally driven as it was, it wasn’t a bad film. I could relate to many of its themes. Not the, I’m an orphan and a musical prodigy feel it had to it, but the idea that music is all around us… in us… in everything.

I am by no means a musical prodigy. In fact musically, I feel as thought I should be wearing a safety helmet and be placed in the “special” music class. There is nothing I hate more than walking into a music store and seeing an 11 year old wailing on a guitar in a manner that would put Hendrix to shame. Trust me it happens. I tell you this for one reason only. You don’t have to be a musical genius. You don’t even have to be a musician. Hell, you don’t even have to know how to play an instrument to hear the music.

Music is in everything. Yes, it is there. Can you hear it? Do you even know what your listening for?

The shutting of a door. The ticking of a clock. Leaves crackling beneath your feet. A mother doing the dishes. Children playing in the yard. Waves crashing into the sand. Car horns honking on the street.

It all comes together…

Adding and subtracting thoughts and sounds until it adds up to something you can grasp. A song you can hear… A song you can feel. A song that can take you places.

To many this may sound obscure, or even obscene. But I challenge you this… The next time you are on the street… in a noisy restaurant… laying in your bed wide awake… Close your eyes and listen to the soundtrack of your life. It may not be as poetic or as polished as Brittany’s last album, but it is yours.

Your life… Your world… Your song.

What does your song say about you?