Jason Ridpath's poem is a short, tired list of contradictions. The speaker begins by asking for feeling, first "something regular," then "something real," then just "to feel." Then comes the reversal: "I don't want to feel anything at all." Wanting emotion and wanting numbness sit side by side, and neither is settled.
The middle section turns to self-criticism. The speaker is too fat, too skinny, too small, too tall, too talkative, too silent. The short lines and near-rhymes ("small," "tall," "all") make it sound like a loop of thoughts the speaker can't switch off. The line "Living in paradoxical pairs" names the pattern outright: every judgment cancels out the one before it, so nothing can ever be right.
The ending is quieter. The speaker climbs and crawls upstairs, and falls into bed with a soft "There, there," as if self-comforting. The mood is worn out and numb, with a small gesture of tenderness at the close. Given the title, sleep seems to be the only relief on offer.