Insomniac Attack

The thing I hate most about insomnia is sitting there, wide awake, with what I would call “ticks.” Not the little bugs that suck your blood. Or vampires. Or involuntary shouts at strangers. But when you’re laying down, staring at the ceiling, fondling your pants. Or blankets. Stop that. Get your minds out of the gutter. Not talking about that… This time.

 Twirling my hair, contemplating about getting up. But not getting up. Why is my tummy upset? Oh.. That’s right. Stupid wine. Brain going around in circles. Two bongos and a monkey never gets boring. Since Mustering the energy to tinker at the piano has escaped me in the twilight hour, I’m so wide awake that it would make sense. Good thing I don’t have any ghosts. Although, I’d have a buddy to chat with all night. Now that’s just crazy talk. Cookoo. Cookoo. I would never get any sleep if I had a ghostly buddy. Gosh, when I think about it… There are so many things I could be doing. Like, sleeping. But I’m not. Since I thrive on being productive… I’m still just watching the ceiling mock me. Such a conundrum. Can you be quiet, ceiling… I’m trying to sleep. Go yuck it up with the chairs or something. Make yourself useful. Nobody cares about your popcorn covering. Feeling insecure much? Annnnnd, I’m still Not dreaming…. Juuussst thinking about it. 

And When did I get chapped lips? Ow. I don’t like this. Gotta be the weather change. I love cold weather. So I don’t like to put the horse cart in front of the monkey… Wait. That’s not right. The hitch in front of the buggy? The tiger on the back of my…. Oh hell. Forget it. I’m laying still there and by this point I have to pee. And i don’t want to get up because it is chilly. Not quite penguin chilly. Snuggle weather is the best. Rabid pillow smuggler. Total problem in these parts. Three chapters later into some chick literature… I’m yawning. Is there hope? Have I found the fountain of sleep? I exhale. Can I ask myself a thousand more questions…. Ugh. Nope. So I plop in front of the TV for some Everybody Loves Raymond reruns and hope this sitcom lullabye hits me like a freight train. Oh I love This episode where Ray tries to get Debra’s splinter out of her finger. Dragging her across the floor… Screaming. Am I sleepy now? Nope. Ugh. Where’s that damn Chapstick? Oooo… pretzels. 

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