Flying Saucer Attack

Tonight's insomnia doesn't come with Russian nesting dolls and imaginary boxes filled with fantasy. I guess that only happens when I wake up in the middle of the night after a few hours sleep.

Tonight's insomnia where I can't ever fall asleep to begin with because my mind is so full of the stress of the day and the dread of the back-to-back-to-back-to-back meetings in the morning, punctuated only with what will be an unpleasant encounter with a disgruntled employee with a sour personality.

With this kind of insomnia, when I stop the cycle of personal anxiety thoughts, I think about:
Israeli assassination of Iranian nuclear scientists,
Iranian retaliation for assassinations of their nuclear scientists,
Republican control of the US and criminalizing birth control,
Scott Walker diverting funds that are intended for people with foreclosed homes in order to fill budget deficits caused by giving tax breaks to people who by no stretch have foreclosed homes,
getting a lingering and fatal illness in which I cannot care for myself so I have to drag my sick butt home to be cared for by my mom or sister because I'm all alone,
is my eye just sore because I am now so tired and keep rubbing it, or, do I have pink-eye?

Good times in my bedroom tonight.

I thought about making a blog post in my other blog, but that would require a bit of thought and either my scanner or camera. Too much effort for the amount of energy I've got. Not to mention I want to leave writing in that blog as a source of joy and creativity. I'll leave that for another day.

This kind of insomnia reminds me of a decade, no closer to 15 years or so ago, when I had bouts and listened to Flying Saucer Attack and Low I Could Live in Hope at night a lot.

Nesting Dolls

And it's an insomnia night!
Since I was awake, I listened to the Selected Shorts podcast with a reading of Allegra Goodman's La Vita Nuova.

I remembered reading and liking the story when I read it in the New Yorker in May 2010 and it was comforting in its familiarity as it unfolded even though I didn't remember what was going to come next. The sadness but gentleness was also perfect for 2:30am.

When I'm up in the middle of the night, I also give myself permission to compose my own comforting and familiar stories in my mind. I had not really thought about the process until tonight but I actually imagine a little box. I draw it behind my eyelids. Not a three-dimensional box, just a line drawing. A boundary. And then I suspend the daytime rules of not hoping for what's not likely to happen. I forget about protecting my feelings by being realistic.

I allow myself to pretend that the thing I most hope for is not only possible but happening: I'm sharing my life, happy and at ease, with the person I love. And then write little scenes with the new reality. The little scenes are comfortingly familiar too, very close to real life. Most involve making dinner on a lazy Saturday.

Who knows, maybe the insomnia is not caused by drinks and dinner too close to bedtime. Maybe its about wanting the permission dream.

Screw You, Frank

I hate when my insomnia comes with Frank Sinatra, stuck in my head, mocking and insulting me. I only have myself to blame though, I watched all those Vic Fontaine holosuite episodes of Star Trek before bed ...