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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.