Cursed insomnia. It strikes randomly, so I never see it coming. I believe this is one of the impairments of a PhD candidate and probably the curse of many creative people. The brain will not shut off for solid sleep because the work it has been doing, entertaining brilliant ideas and examining questions or artistic exploits is just too enticing to leave alone even for a much-needed break.
It’s quite annoying, even when you are able to explain it in this fashion. “I am unable to sleep because I am a genius.” This is what I suggest we tell ourselves, to feel better about this maddening state of sleeping fitfully, during which at least one hundred ideas come flying through our minds.
Some of you have been through this with me before so I will not repeat myself here. (New readers to this blog can go back to a post from last August to catch up if you like. Just stroll through the archived posts at the left of the home page, and you’ll find it. It’s called, Hoping That Sleep is Overrated.) Instead, I’ll share with you the eclectic mix of thoughts that are keeping me from sleep tonight.
First, it is the excitement of a potential job opportunity for my brother that has been out of work for more years than any decent, hardworking, reliable, goodhearted human being should be. I am (codependent that I am) thinking of all the guidance I can offer to help him prepare for his interview next week.
He needs this job, in many ways, like so many of the unemployed people out there who are looking for work in an extremely competitive job market. The emotional and financial strains of being out of work take their toll, and I think my brother has paid the piper long enough. He is due for some good fortune.
So I am thrilled that he has an appointment that may bring the start of a new phase of career and life for him. I cannot stop thinking of the details. I want this job for him about as much as he does.
Then, my brain flips around to material I was reading shortly before bedtime. I am rereading some of the research articles I am using for my dissertation as I explore the question of grief and how people are more openly sharing it in public ways through electronic media and the grief memoir. I am taking a systematic approach to try to bring my thoughts into a narrow focus, so I can finish my proposal and get it past my committee, finally. This must happen, and it must happen soon. I cannot stand the agony of watching my potential graduation dates jumping into the future, out of reach.
I keep coming across key terms in the works I am reviewing that resonate with me: “drive to story,” or just simply “stories.” This has been a common thread throughout my life, especially in my career, as I have been a journalist and professional communicator for nearly 27 years.
We are bombarded by stories every day, whether we are telling someone about the fiasco of having our driveway plowed that led to a painful four-hour shovel-fest and an expensive wrecker bill, or we are watching the story unfold of Arizona Congresswoman Gabby Giffords as she miraculously continues to improve from injuries she suffered last weekend when she was shot at pointblank range in a freak act of violence that has the nation talking.
You see how my stream of consciousness continues to flow, even as I have abandoned trying to sleep for the moment so that I could pour all these thoughts into this blog entry. Perhaps I am expecting to empty my mind here so that it will be quiet enough for me to finally drift off to sleep. There is work in the morning, after all.
I do not suggest that these thoughts are connected, but I am surprised that they are so vibrant and practically simultaneous in my mind. (Not to mention nonstop and out of control.) My research article tonight referenced several grief memoirs and spoke to the growing popularity of this type of memoir writing. I have read some of them already, in my literature review work for this project, including Paula by Isabel Allende, and Eight Bullets, by Claudia Brenner. Distinctly different stories but each a memoir sharing a loved one’s life and death, while the authors bare their souls, their pain, their growth through grief.
Another grief memoir that I have not yet read but am drawn to download tomorrow to my digital book reader: Your Father’s Voice: Letters for Emmy About Life with Jeremy -- and Without Him After 9/11. The book is by Lyz Glick, widow of Jeremy Glick, one of the passengers on Flight 93 that rushed the cockpit on September 11th when terrorists had hijacked that plane.
I’m sure there are many more grief memoirs that I have not yet discovered, so by all means, drop me a note to suggest one if you can. I’m a doctoral student. Reading is my life.
Clearly, there is something in the reading public that is drawn to these stories, as there is something in those authors that compels them to make their private pain a public experience. There is a stark honesty in grief memoir writing -- there is no way to tell those stories “halfway.”
Why do we do it? I’ll let you know what I find out. In the meantime, insomnia, do your worst. I’m making use of the time you’re giving me.
Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan
Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan
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