August 23, 2006


Where For Art Thou, Sleep?

I hear people brag that they get by on 3 hours sleep. All the smart people in history apparently caught a cap nap for 30 minutes each night, then spent the other 23 and a half hours painting and philosphizing and running the world.

I catch a desperate few hours if I'm lucky, and spend the balance of my day acting like a lion with a thorn in its paw.

I've always been an insomniac, even as a kid. I used to meet my Dad in the hallway as our roaming laps interconnected at least once a week. But it gets worse and worse, and sleep becomes the Artful Dodger.

I've tried everything. I love the ads on TV for sleep aids that warn you they might cause drowsiness. One can only hope. My system is immune to all of it, and in the back of my head is my doctor's voice warning me that pills can be habit forming. I've decided all the best things in life run that risk.

Up north, the kids will stand for hours with a net at the ready stalking minnows. Ankle deep in the water, they sneak up on the unsuspecting silver darts like stealth bombers. Once in awhile they catch one. This is how I chase sleep naturally.

There used to be a family on our lake, years back, who had a big boat. They would waterski around around our tight little lake, tossing up a wake that never got a chance to settle before they were back 'round again. In the wake we'd find lots of little minnows, smacked to death by the outboard. This is how I chase sleep with the help of Big Pharma.

I've been up for two hours and even the cats have ambled back to bed.

Maybe tonight I try sheep instead of minnows.

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