oh shit

When you ask an insomniac why they don't sleep well, they might reply with something along the lines of, "I don't really know. I wish I did."

But if they are anything like me, they are thinking something completely different. Something along the lines of, "Jesus fucking christ, how the fuck should I know?"

This isn't because they dislike you. It is because they haven't been sleeping well.

Once past the niceties, inquisitive types move on to solutions like:

* Do you take anything? You should try melanoma.

Reply: Do you mean "melatonin"? I've already tried it. It works for a couple of days and then I'm right back where I started.

Thought: Do you think I'm an idiot?

* Have you talked to a doctor?

Reply: No. They'll just prescribe something and I really don't want to be medicated.

Thought: Typical. This is a medicated world. Maybe I should just give up and join the body snatchers. I could run around like Donald Sutherland hissing at the under-prescribed.

* What do you think about that keeps you up at night?

Reply: It is really hard to say.

Thought: Why aren't you up all night? The world is a fucking wreck.

* You should have a drink before bed.

Reply: Actually, alcohol interferes with REM sleep which is what you really need to feel well rested.

Thought: No. No no no no. No. No. I do not want to have this conversation any longer.

Truth is though that I start the conversation. I'm constantly telling people about my bad nights' sleeps and then getting annoyed with them when they try to be helpful. What's wrong with me? If I don't want their advice, why do I mention it? It is enough to keep an imbecile up at night.

Truth is that after months of sleeping fabulously, I've been stricken with the sickness once again and I'm pissed about it. I also know precisely what's causing it. It's the house. Buying a house is keeping me up at night.

But it is not as if I can name the thoughts running through my head as I stumble out of bed and into the living room. I am fevered and rigid, with a clenched jaw and shoulders pinched up around my ears as if trying to keep my head on its hinges. I can almost feel the earth spinning and I'm clinging to it with my fingertips.

If I could name the thoughts I could think myself out of them. But all I can articulate is "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."