It all starts with not being able to sleep, then the fear of being able to not sleep, the anxiety.
The days get longer, a nap may happen at some point, or maybe that would be considered an automatic shut down. Cartoon network is put on the television, trying to find something that doesn’t blowup, leak radiation, or involve noisy politics. It may be caustic in nature, Adult Swim, but at least it doesn’t require ones full attention like ARTS (the MTV for adults). Then one waits, sleep should come soon.
Sometimes it doesn’t. This last summer on one of those warm balmy nights in late July, sleep no where to be found, the first sirens arrived around 2 in the morning. Then the helicopters circling overhead, bright spotlights illuminating the yard, flashlights peering through the gate, sleep went away. The saga lasted for two hours, everyone on lock down, no news, no information as to what was angering the police gods. Escaped tiger from the zoo? Rampaging drunk elephants trampling innocents living near the edge of the forest? Jason or Freddy haunting the neighborhood? No clues to be found, whether it anywhere, instead just lights and sound.
Of course it turned out to be a couple of silly kids that decided it would be fun to crawl through a window and try to steal things, only to discover an awake octogenarian and an alarm system with a hair line trigger. This all of course caused the need for a two block manhunt, dogs included. No sleep was found that night, especially when just when things went quiet at 4, an hour later at 5 the helicopters reappeared to start again with one final sweep of the area.
But that was disturbed sleep, not insomnia. What I am talking about now is the good old fashion, protestant, wool clad, worries about the world variety of insomnia. Does it make sense when Yuri alludes to Elena that his sister is missing fingers on both her hands in chapter 4? Are we going to make it financially to the goals that we need and want to achieve? Did I lock the front gate? Why is my email account so devoid of responses to the many letters that I have sent out?
This is the good old fashion insomnia that I am talking about. Tyler Durden stuff, the type of epic rumblings that Chuck was going through when he wrote his novel. Yet, this too shall pass, as it always does. Perhaps a few more nights, or weeks of these nights, and things will settle back into the four to five hour patches that are the norm. Until then, perhaps I should learn to take up the hobby of making soap.