95% of the time, the answer is no.

5% of the time, due to external factors and imposing factors, the answer is I don't know.

I assume the more frequent answer during these times, regardless of truth values. Truth value does not change frequency.

For ten minutes two days ago, somewhere around the hours of ten or eleven o'clock, I was aware only of a wire (my brain) that whispered between my skull and my feet. I felt no other body parts. When I woke, it was without interruption; I wandered, also, without interruption. All of the eyes were off. I covered myself with a blanket and listened to sounds that seemed on the verge of interrupting, but did not. I felt as if the part of me that held memories had been dropped off; if I had known to describe it this way at the time, I would have cried, aware of the lacking object. But as I knew not what it was, and did not seek it, I went uninterrupted like this for approximately ten minutes, which, at the time, I kept wanting to call two hours. Everything around me felt like a part of my body, whether I gave it attention or not. I remember thinking of a sort of comfort, so comfortable, that it creates a sort of restless agitation of its own accord to prolong itself and stave off sleep, that biological killjoy. I did not recognize myself because I did not think any thoughts that pertained to myself, my external self and its businesses--I thought of time, but only in terms of abstract collections (hours, minutes), not days of the week, which could very quickly turn into a thought about obligations or schedules. I was not aware of wanting anything, except, later, a sweet potato. I was aware, dimly, that time existed, and that, like a frozen program, it would restart once I woke if I chose to return to sleep.

I record this because, in my various experiences with sleep and falling asleep, which I am trying to gain a better understanding and manipulation of, this is the first of such an occurance, and also markedly different from instances of lucid dreaming, continued dreaming, etc. that I have otherwise been working with. It was the longest I have been able to keep time, or (linear) existence, at bay. Physical exhaustion and silence (or at least absence of sounds that may serve as time or experiential markers) seemed to be important variables. I will not call this instance a perfect example, but it is the best I have of something I have edged around at home (where it is generally quieter) and during the summer, when I was able to fall asleep and wake up to music (and was also frequently exhausted).

I am very tired and 95% of my brain misses you 5% of the time. But I do not miss you--or anything--in these moments (these? I've only had one), or if I do, it is a missing without linear time: an abstract, almost vestigial emotion that depends neither on past encounters nor potential future encounters. It is an emotion felt in a void, more a fluctuation of anatomy or biology than an idea, and in this form, almost any emotion is pleasurable, provided it does not interrupt the process that renders it.

I hear if you yell loud enough you go deaf. But my hearing this is only testament to the fact that the world is determined to go no louder than its current incessant, insectish buzzing.