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#insomnia #conflictedworlds @Alwaysbeenaloverofbooks @Eggs

#covercrush #7days7covers tag you‘re it @AWahle post your favourite covers and tag a new friend everyday for 7 days xo

Sydney Writer‘s Festival Day 1. My first time attending when it is at the Carriageworks. I must say I prefer the Walsh Bay venue better than this one as it is a little too busy. Not enough loos or places to eat but plenty of great books and their clever authors though.

Good short story about one woman's struggles with insomnia.
I really enjoyed this, was a good little read.
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"When you cannot sleep you fall in love with sleep" ???

This book is only 122 pages but I struggled to get through it. Instead of a traditional memoir or even a close look at the phenomenon of insomnia, it‘s more like a pseudophilosophical chapbook of random literary namedroppimg (Nabokov, Wordsworth, and Gilgamesh, all in three pages! Can you tell she‘s educated?) It almost seems to mimic the scattered thoughts of the insomniac; clever; maybe, but not compelling. ⭐️⭐️

My five star reads for December. Not many of these are on my year end list of bests because I like to see if books have lasting power. I suspect these will. http://readingenvy.blogspot.com/2018/12/books-read-december-2018-289-317.html

"When I think of insomnia's wayward rhythms what I picture is this: gaudy insomnia with its wide lapels and toothy grin is the last groover on the dance floor, still going at it after everyone else has collapsed in a heap or gone home...."

This brilliant mix of memoir, mythology, literature and science is a meditation on too many sleepless nights. Plus the cover sparkles!

This short book by Marina Benjamin takes such a unique look at the common affliction of insomnia. She draws upon references from mythology, psychology, art and literature to take a more philosophical look at the condition while also relating her personal experiences with sleeplessness. It‘s also beautifully written!

In truth I am already a zombie. My skin is crawling with discomfort, as though some werewolf form lurking within wants to split it open and burst free. My head lolls with the effort of keeping myself upright. My eyes are glassed over. I am out of sorts with myself. My lack of intent turns me into an alien blob, a sack of seething pulp. I am hungry for whatever it is that makes us human.

What do I long for? I ask myself this question in the witching hours because it cannot be asked by day. On certain turbulent nights this longing is so great and deep and bald it swallows up the whole world. Defying comprehension, it just is. And I am a black hole, void of substance, greedy with yearning. To be without sleep is to want and be found wanting.

Insomnia and I have history. We are bound together so tight we‘ve experienced all the phases of love, from thrill to bewilderment to boredom and back again. Like the phases of the moon. Insomnia is thief of my repose and demon lover both.