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I am so freakin’ tired.

I know, you’re sitting out there thinking, “Lordy be, if I have to listen to another person whine and complain about there not being enough days in December or enough hours in the day I may just go postal and deliver you and your whining into the depths of HELL.”

The truth is I’ve fallen into the clutches of insomnia and I cannot seem to wriggle my way out. I’ve tried altering my bedtimes, warm milk (ugh), bananas, exercise (UGH)….nothing. It’s the same with hiccups, I’ve found. I have to put aside my raging frustration with being unable to regulate my body and its functions. I have to honestly forget my ailment in order for it to disappear, and when I say honestly I cannot trick the ol’ melon like I can everyone else, more’s the pity.

I’m really getting to hate the look of my alarm clock. Mainly because the view I get is when it’s reading 3:58, 4:04, 4:22, etc. And the dot? The dot, my friends, is nowhere to be found. These are not post meridiem times I’m rhyming off, oh no; they are middle of the blessed night, pitch dark, even the dogs are snoring early morning hours. I mean, even the paper boy’s alarm clock has not gone off yet; I suspect he has yet to hear the soft whump! of his day’s allotment of news, sports and entertainment land on the snow-covered stoop.

There are two ways I can handle it when my eyes pop open and I realize I’ve foiled yet another day for myself: one, lay there, stubbornly, in the dark, waiting for sleep to revisit me and drive the swarm of bees from my ears so the buzzing of sleep-deprivation stops or two, get up, start the day and try to squeeze as much constructive time out of it as I possibly can before I hit the inevitable wall, usually in this case much, much earlier than 3:00 (p.m.). Nine times out of ten I opt for number two, which brings us to last night, The Night the Lights Went Out in My Mind. I was home and asleep on the chesterfield before 7:15 and man, did I need that sleep. I have half a mind to lather, rinse and repeat again tonight. I have so much to do before the 25th that I feel guilty when I’m not stuffing every conscious moment full of doing, but it would seem to be crystal clear that I’m simply not built that way.

Sleep well.

Posted at 1:52 p.m.