I hate not being able to sleep.
And I haven't been sleeping much lately. I've been lucky to get three or four hours a night, with maybe a half-hour catnap during the day.
It's not like I've had more on my mind than usual. Only the usual suspects -- money, career, love -- are rearing their heads as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I get a lot of cleaning done in the apartment, so that's nice.
It puts me in mind of that Shakespeare quote I used as evidence of my advancing age:
I'm left wondering which of these cares is the one that's driving sleep away.
Last Saturday, Toni and her husband Brendon came to see the show, and the subject of my insomnia came up over drinks afterward. Toni suffers from it herself, but Brendon is immune. He said the sanest thing I've ever heard about worry (I'm paraphrasing, but this is essentially the idea), "Whatever's worrying you is still going to be there in the morning, so why not put it aside and allow yourself some rest?"
At first I snorted and thought to myself, "Oh, right. Easy for you to say." But now I'm thinking.
Is it really that easy? Is anything really allowed to be that easy?
If it's so, I'm going to be both infinitely relieved and a little disappointed. I'm a creature who has a love/hate relationship with complexity, and that shit is way too simple.
I was out impossibly late with E.B. Monday night, getting a drink. He suggested, since he's commencing on a five day binge of working, rehearsing, cleaning, packing and moving, that we have breakfast Tuesday morning, to which, foolishly, I agreed. Because of course I didn't fall asleep 'til 4 a.m., and was awake at 8 a.m. to meet him at 9.
I doubt that my looking like ass warmed over really helped in my campaign to make him love me, but what the heck. I always enjoy him. He's a great guy. Sweet too.
I shan't dwell on it too long, or I'm going to mourn the lost opportunity and get all sad.
Fie on that, say I. Fie!
And I haven't been sleeping much lately. I've been lucky to get three or four hours a night, with maybe a half-hour catnap during the day.
It's not like I've had more on my mind than usual. Only the usual suspects -- money, career, love -- are rearing their heads as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I get a lot of cleaning done in the apartment, so that's nice.
It puts me in mind of that Shakespeare quote I used as evidence of my advancing age:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign
I'm left wondering which of these cares is the one that's driving sleep away.
Last Saturday, Toni and her husband Brendon came to see the show, and the subject of my insomnia came up over drinks afterward. Toni suffers from it herself, but Brendon is immune. He said the sanest thing I've ever heard about worry (I'm paraphrasing, but this is essentially the idea), "Whatever's worrying you is still going to be there in the morning, so why not put it aside and allow yourself some rest?"
At first I snorted and thought to myself, "Oh, right. Easy for you to say." But now I'm thinking.
Is it really that easy? Is anything really allowed to be that easy?
If it's so, I'm going to be both infinitely relieved and a little disappointed. I'm a creature who has a love/hate relationship with complexity, and that shit is way too simple.
I was out impossibly late with E.B. Monday night, getting a drink. He suggested, since he's commencing on a five day binge of working, rehearsing, cleaning, packing and moving, that we have breakfast Tuesday morning, to which, foolishly, I agreed. Because of course I didn't fall asleep 'til 4 a.m., and was awake at 8 a.m. to meet him at 9.
I doubt that my looking like ass warmed over really helped in my campaign to make him love me, but what the heck. I always enjoy him. He's a great guy. Sweet too.
I shan't dwell on it too long, or I'm going to mourn the lost opportunity and get all sad.
Fie on that, say I. Fie!
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