Insomnia is a bitch. The more you tell yourself to think of nothing, the more you think of everything. You try breathing in and out, long inhales, long exhales, but really you just realize that your left nostril is blocked and then you’ve got a weird pain in your diaphragm and you should really try to eat healthier meals and oh my god was that a noise in your kitchen and tomorrow you really need to do those online work applications because you’re in a bit of a predicament and you wonder how your life isn’t what you tried to make out of it and then you’re exhausted and actually try counting sheep. It fails.

Kraków is waking up. Engines are roaring soundly. It should be too early for life. The apartment is dark and you have a memory creeping up of being a child and cracking an eyelid open to the pale light of dawn and hearing your parents going about in the kitchen for their first morning coffee. You are calmed by the familiarity of the noises and are happy that you still have a few hours sleep ahead. This is different.

You are trying to make life choices now because nighttime is quiet and good for thoughts and this time where the world is dead should really be used practically. That fails as well. You think of useless things like which Disney princess would you be, and is this considered a good time to bake a cake but oh shit! you don’t have an oven and that just killed that idea and how long can you go on rambling about random shit, is this even working on emptying your head?

The sky is pale blue. The tops of the buildings are stuck in purple clouds. They’re black from sleep. You are jealous. Outlines of the mess lying in your apartment are slowly appearing, like a magic rabbit trick. You miss him.


The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.


I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them. Mark Twain