INSOMNIA
This is an incredibly rough draft of a monologue I hope to submit to our 3rd Annual One-Act Festival. Enjoy.
Jane:
I was 35 minutes late to work today. My boss saw me coming in and said that "if I wanted to stay employed here, I should do a better job of arriving promptly." To which I replied "if I wanted to hear opinions from fat, balding men, I'd ask you for one."
(pause) It was a slight over reaction. I blame it on my lack of sleep. Which is understandable because (catches self)...I'm not, like, normally a bitch or anything. I mean, there's, like, worse things to be, but I'm not a bitch normally or anything. I'm just tired all the time. I'll be fine though, honest. I am fine. I'm fine. I'm more than fine. It's just, you know, who sleeps well in the car, right? I remember when I was a kid I could never sleep in the car. Even as a baby. Some babies, my sister for example, zonk right out once you put them in a car seat. Sometimes my mom would just put her in the car seat and set her on top of the washing machine. Which is a great idea, except for the one time she forgot to bring Stef back up to the apartment with the load of whites. She went right back down for her, Stef doesn't even remember it happening, but my Dad still likes to tell the story at Thanksgiving.
Ahhh jeez, I was going to ask for the Friday after Thanksgiving off today. I better wait until next week now, let my boss cool off a little bit. I was going to write it down, I must have forgotten. I'm not, like, scatterbrained, I'm just tired. I read a study on-line that you need at least 6 hours of sleep a night to function properly. I lay down for at least 8 every night, but I bet they mean uninterrupted, and that never happens in my car. I'm not, like, homeless or anything. I mean, that's not, like, a big deal if I was, right? There are worse things you can be.
I really didn't mean to snap at him. He's been going through a lot lately, he's in the middle of a pretty nasty divorce, and he's got a kid in school that's having some troubles. He was probably just looking out for me. And I mean, I snapped at him in front of...(starts to tear up) ahhh jeez. I'm sorry, just give me a second. (waves hand in front of face, trying to compose herself) I'm not a big crier. I don't, like, cry myself to sleep every night or anything. I'm just, I'm just so tired. All the time.
(Long pause)
There's a monster in my basement. Down by the water heater, back in the shadows. It hasn't always been there. I was gone for a long weekend to visit my folks three, no it was a month ago, and when I came home I felt like something was off, but I just chalked it up to stress. I mean, it's not like I hate going to see my parents, but it's stressful, you know? Why don't you get a better job. When are you going to get back out there and date. Have you not been sleeping again. Just you know, the same questions asked over and over. So I chalked it up to stress, and I went to take a shower to kind of ease my mind. But the hot water was out. So I went downstairs and I just started feeling uneasy. You know how it is if you're in the mall or something, and there's all those people milling about? And someone comes real close behind you? Even if you don't see them, you know they're there? It was that sort of feeling. Like there was something just over my shoulder. My water heater is inside of a closet in the back corner of the basement. I thought it was a cute little thing when I moved in, because who wants to have to stare at a water heater? When I opened the door, the feeling got worse. Like it was seconds from stepping out of the shadows towards me. It took me three tries to relight the pilot my hands were shaking so badly, and as soon as the flame took I slammed the door and raced upstairs. I swear, I took the stairs 3 at a time to stay ahead of it. I slammed the basement door shut and dragged my kitchen table in front of the door. There's grooves in the linoleum now from the legs dragging across it.
I haven't been back to the house since. I still had most of my bags in the car, so I didn't really need to go back. I stayed at a hotel for a week before I realized I wasn't going to be able to afford it much longer. My finances are pretty tight right now, I had some medical bills that stacked up and... I just couldn't afford it. So I started sleeping in my car. After a week I got used to it enough that I was actually sleeping, but I'm still tired all of the time.
(pause, softly but slowly building to a head)
There's a monster in my house, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't very well sell the house, what if a family moves in and it eats one of their kids? Or an elderly couple? Or a dog? I couldn't live with that. I called my mom to get her advice, she asked if I was still taking my medication. I told her that had nothing to do with this and she said I should have someone come over and look. Like I hadn't thought of that?... ahhh, jeeze, I shouldn't have snapped at her like I did. But who do I call? An exterminator? A priest? What if they go down there and the monster kills them? What if they go down there and the monster hides? What if they can't find it? Then they're going to come up stairs and they're going to get that look on their face, like they can't decide if they're angry or sad, like it's my fault. Like it's in my head. And it's not in my head, because it's real and it's hiding and if I go back in that house it's going to kill me. And it's not my fault. Jesus, it's not!
(resigned, but confident)
There's a monster in my house, and I can't sleep because of it, and I AM still taking my medication. It's not like I'm, like, (catches her self again)... ... It's not. I'm fine. I, I just can't sleep.
Jane:
I was 35 minutes late to work today. My boss saw me coming in and said that "if I wanted to stay employed here, I should do a better job of arriving promptly." To which I replied "if I wanted to hear opinions from fat, balding men, I'd ask you for one."
(pause) It was a slight over reaction. I blame it on my lack of sleep. Which is understandable because (catches self)...I'm not, like, normally a bitch or anything. I mean, there's, like, worse things to be, but I'm not a bitch normally or anything. I'm just tired all the time. I'll be fine though, honest. I am fine. I'm fine. I'm more than fine. It's just, you know, who sleeps well in the car, right? I remember when I was a kid I could never sleep in the car. Even as a baby. Some babies, my sister for example, zonk right out once you put them in a car seat. Sometimes my mom would just put her in the car seat and set her on top of the washing machine. Which is a great idea, except for the one time she forgot to bring Stef back up to the apartment with the load of whites. She went right back down for her, Stef doesn't even remember it happening, but my Dad still likes to tell the story at Thanksgiving.
Ahhh jeez, I was going to ask for the Friday after Thanksgiving off today. I better wait until next week now, let my boss cool off a little bit. I was going to write it down, I must have forgotten. I'm not, like, scatterbrained, I'm just tired. I read a study on-line that you need at least 6 hours of sleep a night to function properly. I lay down for at least 8 every night, but I bet they mean uninterrupted, and that never happens in my car. I'm not, like, homeless or anything. I mean, that's not, like, a big deal if I was, right? There are worse things you can be.
I really didn't mean to snap at him. He's been going through a lot lately, he's in the middle of a pretty nasty divorce, and he's got a kid in school that's having some troubles. He was probably just looking out for me. And I mean, I snapped at him in front of...(starts to tear up) ahhh jeez. I'm sorry, just give me a second. (waves hand in front of face, trying to compose herself) I'm not a big crier. I don't, like, cry myself to sleep every night or anything. I'm just, I'm just so tired. All the time.
(Long pause)
There's a monster in my basement. Down by the water heater, back in the shadows. It hasn't always been there. I was gone for a long weekend to visit my folks three, no it was a month ago, and when I came home I felt like something was off, but I just chalked it up to stress. I mean, it's not like I hate going to see my parents, but it's stressful, you know? Why don't you get a better job. When are you going to get back out there and date. Have you not been sleeping again. Just you know, the same questions asked over and over. So I chalked it up to stress, and I went to take a shower to kind of ease my mind. But the hot water was out. So I went downstairs and I just started feeling uneasy. You know how it is if you're in the mall or something, and there's all those people milling about? And someone comes real close behind you? Even if you don't see them, you know they're there? It was that sort of feeling. Like there was something just over my shoulder. My water heater is inside of a closet in the back corner of the basement. I thought it was a cute little thing when I moved in, because who wants to have to stare at a water heater? When I opened the door, the feeling got worse. Like it was seconds from stepping out of the shadows towards me. It took me three tries to relight the pilot my hands were shaking so badly, and as soon as the flame took I slammed the door and raced upstairs. I swear, I took the stairs 3 at a time to stay ahead of it. I slammed the basement door shut and dragged my kitchen table in front of the door. There's grooves in the linoleum now from the legs dragging across it.
I haven't been back to the house since. I still had most of my bags in the car, so I didn't really need to go back. I stayed at a hotel for a week before I realized I wasn't going to be able to afford it much longer. My finances are pretty tight right now, I had some medical bills that stacked up and... I just couldn't afford it. So I started sleeping in my car. After a week I got used to it enough that I was actually sleeping, but I'm still tired all of the time.
(pause, softly but slowly building to a head)
There's a monster in my house, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't very well sell the house, what if a family moves in and it eats one of their kids? Or an elderly couple? Or a dog? I couldn't live with that. I called my mom to get her advice, she asked if I was still taking my medication. I told her that had nothing to do with this and she said I should have someone come over and look. Like I hadn't thought of that?... ahhh, jeeze, I shouldn't have snapped at her like I did. But who do I call? An exterminator? A priest? What if they go down there and the monster kills them? What if they go down there and the monster hides? What if they can't find it? Then they're going to come up stairs and they're going to get that look on their face, like they can't decide if they're angry or sad, like it's my fault. Like it's in my head. And it's not in my head, because it's real and it's hiding and if I go back in that house it's going to kill me. And it's not my fault. Jesus, it's not!
(resigned, but confident)
There's a monster in my house, and I can't sleep because of it, and I AM still taking my medication. It's not like I'm, like, (catches her self again)... ... It's not. I'm fine. I, I just can't sleep.
posted by Matt Worzala at
2:56 PM
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