Something about sleep

It's a peculiar thing how time appears to be the overlord of all that exists within the scope of mortal existence. Time is how we govern all that is to be done, we do this by creating deadlines, or else, hours in which all work is to be abided by, and these become set like the word of the Lord into tablets. Perhaps it is to make our own 'deadline' seem less sufficient; it becomes but one of many, as opposed to the, theoretically, only.
   I find I was once very punctual. Very good at 'keeping' time. I suppose, perhaps, in time, I had ironically learned that time cannot be kept, but simply passes along in the way we have attempted to make it do so, best. Now time escapes me. Constantly. Time travels without my noticing, and before I am asleep, I must be up; similarly to the situation I find myself in now.
   There are ways to better handle time, or at least, to manipulate our perception of it's movement. Drugs, 'fun', etc. We can slow down or speed up how often we choose to take notice of time, but never time itself.
   As I lay, attempting to sleep, in the late afternoon, my father said a few simple things to me. I did not reply, but his words, to me, (which were of a considerate and indelible  nature) provoked some thought, and a framed recital of what had passed...

You need sleep, Jez

if you don’t

it leads to depression,

anxiety and anger.

How do I tell my father

how many sleepless nights

I have had…