The Fibonacci of Rest
all the hot girls have chronic back pain.
Over the years I have grown increasingly aware of my torso. I used to just exist inside my body; now I manage it like a problematic tenant. Every morning it gives me some new notice: knotted up here, sore there, surprise tension in the lower back for no apparent reason.
Years ago, my dad brought back an ammonite fossil from either Madagascar, Uganda or Kenya - I don’t remember exactly which one. I must have been 9 or 10 years old at the time. And for some reason, I was so enamoured by this little snailesque stone. Fun fact; Ammonite fossils are actually arranged in a logarithmic spiral, not a Fibonacci sequence. But that’s besides the point, 9-10 year old Aisha did not know what either was anyways, all she knew was that she was obsessed with it. I genuinely still think about that stone a lot. It’s somewhere in my parents house, I need to find it, who knows, maybe the energies associated will help me fold inward.
The Fibonacci sequence begins with 0 and 1, each new number formed by adding the two before it: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21… In mathematics it is expressed as: Fn = Fn-1 + Fn-2
But beyond numbers, Fibonacci is nature’s quiet design. It shapes how leaves spiral around stems, how flowers bloom with 3, 5, 8, or 13 petals, and how pinecones and sunflowers arrange their spirals.
In art and music, its rhythm surfaces again; in octaves of eight notes, in the five black keys of a piano, in architecture that feels intuitively “right.” As the sequence grows, the ratio between consecutive terms approaches the golden ratio (≈ 1.618), the mysterious number that has fascinated mathematicians and artists alike for centuries; a bridge between beauty, balance, and mathematics.
Now, Cats. They have the ability to curl up in that perfect little spiral, just straight werkin that geometry and I feel a level of jealousy that’s probably not healthy. Cats don’t wake up in pain. They don’t Google “best sleep position for lower back issues.” They just curl Fibonacci and call it a night. My dad always says he thinks I was a cat in a past life, and I think he is right. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to the fuck ass Fibonacci sequence, past-cat me has just been yearning (or purring lol) to curl up in a perfect little mathematical spiral. No pain tugging at my spine, no vertebrae screaming at me every single time a bitch wanna shift the other way. God forbid a girl wants a little warmth, and peace!
But yeah no, these days sleep has become an extreme sport. I stretch, hydrate, align, adjust, breathe, pray, wear a fancy pajama set, rotate my mattress, take the magnesium (glycinate obvi!) even wear perfume to bed - you know for the vibes, and then… still I wake up shaped like a question mark. As one could probably deduce, my body and I are in a long term argument about who’s actually in charge, and frankly, I’m losing. I’m down real bad.
Rest has become a goal instead of a given. Something I have to plan for, optimize, track, chase. I even have an app that tracks my sleep debt, and you can just call me Carl now because that bitch just keeps going up, up and up. How strange that the body that once knew how to collapse into safety by default, now second guesses even a fucking mattress. It’s like my spine doesn’t trust softness anymore. I suppose the trust issues in this frame run that deep lol.
Like ughhhhhh… when I was little, I could fall asleep anywhere, cars, couches, someone else’s lap, heck I even slept through an entire middle eastern wedding from start to finish. I used to SLEEEEEEEP. I used to fold myself up without even thinking about it. The body just knew what to do. Now, even the idea of curling up feels like an unrealistic wish. I lie there staring at the ceiling, calculating angles, and negotiating with my lower back.
I want, no, I need my body to lock the fuck in and remember that comfort was once an instinct, not an indulgence. I want to be in complete ergonomic harmony. But that damn spine is always yelling at me “bestiekins we don’t bend that way anymore” and that’s when I just want to grab her and violently crack the shit out of that spine like a mother fucking glow stick.
Everything beautiful starts curled in first: shells, hurricanes, galaxies, embryos in their tiny cosmic cradles. Nature moves in spirals; it remembers the choreography. Everything curls in before it blooms, because that’s what safety looks like before growth. I think humans forgot that somewhere along the way. We trained our bodies out of their instincts. We learned to stretch ourselves thin instead of folding into comfort, to call rest “lazy” and stiffness “strong.” That ammonite has been sitting perfectly still for millions of years, maybe that fossil was my first lesson in how everything strong once learned to curl.
And maybe that’s why I can’t sleep right anymore, my body doesn’t remember the geometry of ease. Perhaps I’m trying to solve for Fn: each night adding up all the old versions of me that knew how to rest and the new one that keeps forgetting. Fn = Fn-1 + Fn-2. Pain plus persistence equals… whatever the hell I am now. I suppose I am an uncoiled Fibonacci trying to remember how to fold back into itself.
Regardless, idgaf, my spine needs to lock the fuck in. Ain’t shit fucking funny anymore.
“rest has become a goal instead of a given” hit me like a freight train omg
going to carry "everything beautiful starts curled in first" for me forever ... might even get it tattooed oh ! my ! god !