Insomnia

What're you doing up at this hour of the night?

Me? Oh, nothing special. I'm thinking about tiling the entry. Or writing a thesis proposal. Maybe I'll write up the lesson plans for the rest of the school year.

Hey, have you read the issue of the Mensa Research Journal on Homeschooling for the Gifted? I haven't quite finished it. I took it to California with me and everything, but it's a research publication (thus, a little weighty, erm, not exactly a cliffhanging novel, okay, so it can be as dry as the Sahara) and I was pretty busy with Q the whole time, so I didn't get to finish it. Maybe I'll go attend to that.

Most of the time, if I'm out before 2 a.m., it doesn't matter how many times I have to get up with Q or whomever, or when I have to be up in the morning. As long as I can be asleep by two (10:30PM is better) and stay out long enough to get in a pinch or two of REM-ish sleep, I'm okay, even if I drag through the next day. For some reason, 2 is my witching hour. It's when everything goes haywire. If I'm awakened around that time, I turn into a slobbering mess. That is the point where I begin to speak of sleep as heroin addicts speak of their next hit. (Hat tip to Martha Beck for the apt analogy.)

Have you read Berkeley Breathed's comics? I can't remember the name of his new incarnation of Opus, et al, but you know the anxiety closet the characters have? Apparently I have one too. So. I'm up. Not because of the closet, but the door went wiiiide open nonetheless. And the piles of nonsense about how lackadaisical, inadequate, miserable, pathetic, pitiful, etc. I really am (don't I hide it well?) are floating around in my head. Ever wonder what it might feel like to be a pinata? I think I have a vague idea.

Sigh. I had such high hopes for this night. Everyone was out at a reasonable hour.......

Aw, geez. Now I need Kleenex. Sniff.

If you're reading this and it's 2 something in the morning, GO TO BED!

Wait! Do you need tucking in? 'Cause I'm up and don't have anything else to do. Wanna see my resume? I sing lullabies. I do voices in stories. I make sure everyone can see the pictures. I promise not to giggle audibly if you decide to sing your bedtime prayers like a show tune or say them like a robot. What, no takers?

Okay, then. Maybe there's a load of laundry to run...


___________________________


P.S. Q got up at 5, snuffly and unhappy. I'm considering opening a vein for the day in order to more speedily deliver caffeine.