Last night I received a little visit from the insomnia fairy. It's not that unusual an experience, like almost forty percent of Americans I experience bouts of acute insomnia. Last night I spent about five hours wrestling the sandman, tossing, turning, and drifting off only to wake and start the process again. When my niece was a young girl she crayoned a vignette that still hangs on her grandmother refrigerator. The scene bears the too-wise-for-her-years caption "Insomnia is the Loneliest Disease" and, after suffering through a night of sleep deprivation, I'd have to agree with the sentiment. When you can't sleep you feel alone and confronted with all the tricks and traps your overactive brain can concoct. Suddenly the commitments of the day ahead feel more urgent, interactions fraught, and the hands on the bedside alarm clock too quick to mark off another lost hour of slumber.
There's a short story in the insomniac experience. I can sense it somewhere on the desolate plains of nighttime, but it'll take a clearer head than I have today to nail down the details. In the meantime I see a mid afternoon nap in my future.