I used to be so proud of my insomnia. “I can’t fall asleep until at least 3 a.m.,” I’d tell people. I thought it was so cool, so hip, so much proof that I was a night-owl, like I’d just stepped out of an Edward Hopper painting, provided that we lived in world where the rules were similar to Ah Ha’s “Take On Me” video.
But right now I’m just so frustrated by it. I want to sleep. I have to drive to my folks’ place for the holidays and everytime I close my eyes I feel like my brain kicks into overdrive and that overdrive is fueled by a meth addled truck driver hell bent on turning his usually languid morning routine into a level of Need for Speed.