It has been a very, very long time since I have had a bout with insomnia. If fact, one of the true pleasures of my life is the adoring relationship I enjoy with sleep. Which is why last night was so strange. Around midnight I decided that the novel I am reading was not to lure me for a third straight night, its a bit too dark. So I just tucked myself under the blue flannel comforters and assumed the position. Instead of my ever faithful fall into the realm of Morpheus, I lingered in a hypnogogic limbo for over an hour. There were no entertaining fantasies or story boards dancing like sugar plums, just tedious processing of the old mundane business of life.There really are no pressing issues emotionally or and other -ally for me right now. I just had a long night of struggle with what for me is generally pleasurable and easy. I woke perhaps half a dozen times during the night and finally fell into a deep sleep less than an hour before I needed to be up and at the world again.
I felt post-downer dull when I heard the early stirring of my friend and knew we had to be off to Berkeley to meet with the remodeling contractor. A solid half day of errands and consultations awaited us. Fortunately for me, unfortunately for her, she had had a similar night to mine, so we shared a scone and grumped our way to the other side of San Francisco Bay to put in our time in the real world.
This evening, I am going to bundle up in some heavy cotton, curl up with a good, if mindless book and grab the very first train to the land of Nod. Got no needs to do, no promises to keep.
p.s. late today I noticed an item I was reading on the web last night, a NYTimes book review on, of all things, insomnia.
