Insomnia

I can't sleep, so I might as well blog about it. But, seriously, folks...

Speaking of seriously, I can't even get a comment for that last bike post? It was BRILLIANT, maybe even better than the Argentine Bingo Bus Wine post. Seriously? Long streets at long hours can't get a motherfraking bravo?

You know, in my hormonal teens, I was quite the anxious insomniac. In 8th grade, I once spun myself into a hysterical crying jag over the idea that I might fail January midterms. It was October. I would let the anxieties and petty slights of My Life rotate around me as I knocked around the hollow, ringing drum called The Inside of My Skull. Have you ever seen cotton candy being made? I like the idea that my insomnia is fine strands of pink-colored sugar, that my restiveness will melt if you lick it. (What does that even mean?) But the texture of my insomnia is more like spaghetti--loopy, wiggly and bland.

At some point in college, I decided the insomnia wasn't worth it, that sleep was the best defense against life's slings and arrows. Maybe I didn't have real insomnia if choosing to sleep, making that a conscious decision, was even possible. Anyway, there is no reason why a full night's worry can't be fit into the little pauses and daydreams of your average school- or workday. I basically get all my worrying done on the way to work, and in between meetings, and when waiting for Excel files to open.

Sometimes, I forget that I am an anxious, worried person while I'm worrying. I'll be worrying about my 401(k)-- not how poorly it's performing right now, but, rather, how I don't know what funds to choose for it-- when I realize, hey, I'm awfully worried about something I don't need to do anything about. Then I remember, oh, yeah, I worry alot. Funny. Mostly I think of myself as a level-headed person. Except about people I seethingly dislike. I wish them ill will. But then I remember, I've been through this revelation a million times before-- yes, I worry alot, yes, I though I was a relaxed person, but, no, I really am not. Or am I relaxed person, who, unfortunately, has a stressful life? But THEN, I remember, I don't have a stressful life, at least not anymore. But, then, I ask, why am I so stressed? Then, I correct myself, I wouldn't call what I do "stressing." I think of it strictly as "worrying." There is a distinct difference concerning dignity that I cannot explain, and at this point, I usually remember I'm supposed to be working on this Excel spreadsheet.

So, this concludes the tour of The Inside of My Skull at 1 am (when I should have been asleep at 9:30 pm). Thank you. Don't forget to tip your blogger.