My Moon Has Two Dark Sides (I'm Not Even Sleeping As A Hobby Anymore)

Insomnia is a companion for a reason or a season or, to some, a regular visitor. In the wake of my estranged mother’s passing, for months, no matter what time I went to bed, no matter what precautions or “sleep hygiene” techniques I deployed, I would be awake, almost without fail, at 3:30 am. It wasn’t really grief, in the traditional sense of losing and missing someone, of being haunted by their absence. I didn’t miss her. I would just suddenly be awake with the realization “She’s dead. Oh.” Then I would lay there, the opening guitar riff that kicks off “And Your Bird Can Sing” looping endlessly, twining around the lyrics to “I Feel Fine” until it just about split my head open, and it was time to get out of bed, and stumble through the day, feeling like a zombie, messing up dinner, dropping things, forgetting things. Then night would come again, my dread rising as shadows deepened, the streetlights popping on, already thinking of the long dark morning. Watching my clock tick towards 6, (baby’s good to me you know she’s happy as can be you know she said so I’m in love with her and I feel fine) listening to the slow, steady breathing of my husband lying next to me, worlds away. Get up feeling creased, sleeplessness coating my skin like a film, start the coffee, start another day going through the physical motions while my brain is fogged over; drifts of cotton piling up by the eaves. Making the bed, the morning light slicing into my low grit sandpaper eyes as I straighten out the rumpled sheets and pillows, already dreading the coming of another sleepless night.

The title of this painting is taken from lyrics to a Jelena Karleuša song I heard remixed by the Kifness x Ognjen & Sinisa around that sleepless time. Sung in Serbian with translated captions, it captured the depth of my detachment from all I had known to be normal, set to a catchy, head bobbing beat.