Insomnia, My Little Lover

I sure talk too much about sleeping here at H's Comment, but being up since 3:15am and it now rolling around to that late hour of nearly 4:00am, I thought I'd weigh in one more time.

To keep myself from getting overly fretful and saying the "I" word -- yes, insomnia --I play little games with myself. I think, for instance, of a hit parade of Times In Other Zones You Can Learn To Love. This can calm me down surprisingly well.

It's a more than reasonable time of nearly 10:00am in London. Tea, please.

It's a party-til-I-drop time of the-night-is-still-young 1:00am in LA. Teeny bikini, tiny martini, please.

It's time to push a stroller around a pretty park on Sunday afternoon in Tokyo. Nori crackers, please, lovely desu ne.

It's next winter and third Tuesday after Boxing Day in Australia or some insane thing. Must have beer.

It's all the way you look at it.

And honestly kids, I go to bed around 9:00pm, so 3:00am is really 6:00am for you guys who go to bed at midnight-ish. Just gotta play with the math a bit.

Anyway, I was rather rudely awakened this morning, as I mentioned around 3:00am, to a loud noise that sounded like an explosion. I just don't have time for terrorist fantasies anymore, so I chalked it up to "One More Noise In The Neighborhood You'll Never Find Out About" -- that odd phenomenon that despite the veritable inondation of news and gossip and bloggery and every piece of data coming at us 24X7, getting the goods on local noises outside your actual bedroom window remains nearly impossible.

My kid and I found a dead squirrel on the road outside our house here yesterday ... what happened? He looked spooky, paws frozen in hanging-from-a-ledge position, like something scary from The Shining, surely it was more than a suburban motorist's poor driving skills afoot. We will never know.

But back to my insomnia. He's like a lover with a hard-on who wants to tell you all about it, poking you awake at 3:00am uninvited. This morning I thought first, "Listen Buster, beat it. Leave me alone." And then got a little more cranky, thinking, "This insomnia might just kill my writing career -- I'm so tired all the time, I can't think straight, much less write."

But "Wait!" thinks I, "Baloney! This insomnia is the only reason I EVER write at all!" So ... I guess It's time to embrace you, my shameless lover and say "You again? Okay, okay. Give me a minute to get in position. Good morning, you sexy brute! I give up. I give in. Roll me over and I'll give you the time of day."

But first, please, somebody tell me ... what happened to that squirrel and what was that loud boom?