Lack of sleep is making my reality blur, my head spin, my stomach churn and my manner reduce to that of the beings you thought of as a child when you heard about ogres that lived under bridges. I've retreated to the living room chesterfield at night, so I can sleep on an incline and maybe keep my throat open a little more. Left to my own devices, I will take my down-filled pillow and my stuffed bear (I heard that!) and position myself as if I were in my own coffin, hands arranged just so on my chest, around my bear. After about 10 minutes, I will proceed to Step Two: twisting myself into a pretzel. I end up every morning on my stomach, my back spasming as I try to straighten out, odd sounds emitting from me as I roll this way and that, stretching and pulling. My back deserves better.

As my surgery date looms, I find myself actually looking forward to going under the knife. Not one to ever run in the direction of pain, I'm dumbfounded. Then, I realize that this is my one shot at a full, quiet, oxygen-enhanced night's sleep, and the mystery is solved.

Posted at 11:57 a.m.