Hamlet, Act III, Scene I

I've probably mentioned this before (and frankly I'm too lazy to go hunting around in the archives, especially in the 700+ posts at my old blog) but I am a heavy sleeper. I sleep the sleep of the dead. It's a combination of sheer exhaustion and a clear conscience most of the time, but it's also genetic: my father's side of the family are all sleepyheads and can nod off at a moment's notice.

I realize what a blessing this is, of course, particularly when I have the odd night of poor sleep.

I've been having restless nights for the past week or two, and man, am I crabby. Part of it, I'm sure, is a little bit too much caffeine and not nearly enough booze (next year I won't be quite so ambitious as to give up The Drink for Lent) in my day-to-day existence. My nerves, they are a little jangled.

Is there anything worse than being wide awake at 4am? Let me answer that for you: yes. What's worse than being wide awake at 4am is dropping back off to sleep at 5:15. When your alarm goes off at 5:30. Which gives you a bad case of foggy brain. So you remedy that with cappuccino, which of course has caffeine so you can get through the morning. And maybe you have a little sweet tea for lunch. Which sets you up with enough caffeine to carry you through the rest of the day and most of the coming night, so that at 4 the next morning, guess what.

At four in the morning the theatre that is my mind is a series of disjointed thoughts, some dreamlike in their level of weirdness, some based so solidly in reality that there's no way to dismiss them. It's like being awake for my dreams, and for someone who rarely remembers her dreams it's a little disconcerting. Apparently I worry about stuff a lot more than I thought.

The good news is today is the last day of winter.

The end.




-- Mox