Imaginary Conversations

It’s 4:00 a.m. and I wake suddenly in the middle of one of those imaginary conversations. Those unsaid words keep me up at night. My bedtime rituals, PZIZZ and the occasional Advil PM allow me to fall asleep, but anytime between 1:30 and 4:30 a.m I often start wake, my head filling with words. In these imaginary conversations every word I say is effective and well chosen. I am the perfect mix of clever, kind and thoughtful, and my conversational partner is skillfully brought to see things my way.

I wish I could be more like imaginary me. Imaginary me is awesome! We all have an ideal of ourselves; that which when we’re at our best we come closest to. Those are the times I feel invincible. I am strong, smart and beautiful; I am a goddess. And then balk. 

The crash is inevitable and I return to being regular me. Regular me is OK, regular me can be strong, smart and beautiful, but regular me isn’t an invincible goddess. Regular me wakes in the middle of the night saying the things goddess me would have in the moment. Regular me screws up on a regular basis. 

One of the things I often say is ‘anyone you don’t think is at least a little crazy you just don’t know that well‘. No matter how mentally healthy we are, or how highly self actualized,  all of us are burdened by character flaws. If you’re anything like me you’re a mess of contradictions and harmony when it comes to your own flaws. Some of mine I bravely claim, others I do my best to keep hidden. Naturally those are the ones that show up at the most inopportune moments, and become the material for those nighttime conversations. 

Often these midnight musings are so perfect and well wrought I write them down so I can use them later. I rework and rehearse word combinations until I’ve memorized them. I am brilliant and unswerving in my message. My words so well chosen I am clarity personified; I am poised and measured. Still, I’d rather be sleeping; these imaginary conversations aren’t helping anyone. I’ve tried numerous methods of derailing them, to varying effect. One of my favorites is counting backwards by seven from 500; you really have to concentrate. 

So, I write. When I wake at 3:38 lately, rather than fight it I give in to the moment. I put on the light, pull out my journal and write—with a pen. Sometimes I write letters I know I’ll never send. I write through my feelings of angst and frustration about whatever is keeping me up. The writing is good. Not the quality, but the function of it. I write, and get sleepy enough to turn the light off, snuggle into the covers and fall back to sleep. Sometimes. I start to loop. I’m unable to write or I give in to the temptation of the internet.

The siren call of my nearby iPad: HuffPo, Words with Friends, Face Book etc. can suck up an hour or two (seriously) and suddenly it’s time to get up. The internal conversations interrupted, but not fully processed follow me through the day. I perseverate. What I wish is that as we near the end of this essay I could offer you some relief from yours or my midnight chatter, but I cannot. I can offer you companionship, commiseration, empathy and invite you to see it for what it is, the condition of the creative mind. I can’t and won’t stop being me so I appreciate every full night’s sleep I get. I’ll use those imaginary conversations to move me through to the next real or made up emotional crisis.