I have this love-hate thing with insomnia. I love it because, often, some of my best writing comes as a result of it. Also, it's kinda cool to know that my brain just keeps going and going like a bit of marketing from a famous battery company a few years back. But I hate it because, well, it means I'm not sleeping.
I can't say as I really have a sleeping pattern. I'm assuming this is not a good thing. A few weeks ago I slept 4 hours per night each night of the weekend. I felt fine. Then, Sunday evening, it hit me.
I've been traveling a lot today, and, as a result, have found myself napping on airplanes.
By the time my good friend picked me up at the airport late this evening, I felt somewhat intoxicated. I'm not even sure what I said to him. It's been just slightly over an hour since we had this conversation, and I can't recall most of it.
God only knows what I might have said to him.
Anyway, I think I was even dreaming on the plane. I know I was dreaming when I was napping at the airport. Funny thing is, I was only sleeping for short bursts--maybe five minutes at a time, if even that. Now that I'm home and in a nice, comfortable bed (rather than sitting bolt upright in a cramped economy-class airplane seat), I suddenly find myself sleepless. And the darnedest thing is, I'm extremely tired. And sleepy. And yet I can't sleep.
Well, maybe writing about it has helped. Who knows. All I know is that I'm going to need to do my best to get some rest with what is left of this night, because later today, I'm going to have to get back to work.
You know, glancing back over this thing, I think it's the most coherent thing I've ever written. On here, anyway.
looking up on prince street
8 hours ago