Insomnia Strikes Again...
Some people get irritated when the terms "OCD" or "depressed" are used as turns-of-phrases rather than being reserved for the actual medical issues they stand for.
My personal peeve is "insomnia."
It irks me most when millennials use this term to describe staying up late because they're caught up in scrolling through Facebook or Tumblr, or trying to decide what to watch on Netflix, or they have some kind of weird early-evening hangover, or something.
...and is usually accompanied by an "omg, I'm so fugly in PJs and no makeup" bathroom selfie...in which, of course, they look positively adorable...
Nope. Sorry, sweet millennials. Insomnia wasn't designed for Instagram fame. (Insomgram? Instamnia? I feel like there's a portmanteau here...)
Insomnia is being SOOOOO fucking tired and wanting to sleep SOOOOO badly, but no matter how many melatonin tablets you take, how much warm milk you drink, or how many relaxing baths you soak in - you will spend the majority of the night tossing and turning - eyes rimming with red, stress levels climbing, every possible sleeping position becoming more uncomfortable than the last - and being completely awake.
The Sandman has given a giant middle finger to your bedroom window tonight and kept on going.
Then, when your bed begins to feel like a combination of rocks and sandpaper, you'll eventually say "Fuck it" and get up to do something productive, even though you barely have the energy for it. Personally, this involves a lot of grumbling, squinting, and bumping into things on my way out of the bedroom. (How my boyfriend manages to stay asleep through my messed up sleeping issues, I will never know.)
This is my life, sometimes. Fortunately, I don't have chronic insomnia like some people do - I couldn't imagine that. Mine only kicks in when I get on some sort of creative overdrive high (usually anywhere from a week to a couple of months at a time), and my brain JUST. WON'T. SHUT. UP.
The synapses absolutely refuse to do anything but fire with machine-gun-like precision and my heart rate is equally as stubborn when it comes to slowing to a tortoise-esque pace. No matter how much my heavy eyes and aching muscles beg, my brain and my heart are working against me.
And, let's face it - they're in charge.
So, I have, once again, left the comforts of my snuggly bed (and snuggly boyfriend) to retreat to the Victorian sofa in the living room and hang out with my kitty pal, Henry (who is asleep on said sofa). I found a bit of solace in some leftover turkey meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and I have lit a couple of taper candles for ambience. It's nice. It's soothing. It's making my inability to sleep almost not piss me off.
I want to bake cinnamon rolls.
I want to set up and shoot a book review video.
I want to sketch a detailed likeness of Gene Kelly dancing on a space ship with Bruno Mars.
My brain has all this super energy that apparently it has been storing away all Summer (which would equate to the past nine months, seeing as how we live in Florida) that it's choosing to unleash all at once during these past few days. What my brain doesn't understand is that my body doesn't have the energy to comply with its demands.
How do you explain to your brain that you need your brain to rest in order to have the energy to do what your brain wants you to do?
It's like a hyper little kid who wakes you up in the middle of the night excitedly screaming about going to Disney World and you're like, "Fritz...we ARE going to Disney World. Tomorrow. You know that. All you're accomplishing by bugging me right now is decreasing the energy I'm going to have for the trip you're excited about. Now go back to bed, you little counterproductive dingleberry."
I suppose I'll just go and do what I usually do - lay back down in bed, plug my earbuds into my phone, and watch Frasier on Netflix. Then I can post a status on Facebook about it:
"Omg, stupid insomnia keeping me awake watching Frasier on Netflix".