They say it's not a diagnosis, insomnia is the symptom. Symptom to... what, again? I haven't slept more than two consecutive hours in a week and a half. I haven't slept more than four total hours in just as long.
Not long ago I wrote that post about my bedtime routine. Nothing's changed except for the fact that now I roll over and place a pillow between my knees and start feeling a warm that comes from the inside and spreads out to my skin and then I feel too hot with the sheet on and too cold with it off. And my hair feels greasy and all I can think about when I start to drift off is stuff that wakes me up again.
I feel the prickly hair on my legs catching the sheets and I wonder about how on earth my Mom always had such beautiful, shiny legs and I'm stuck with these that have an ugly matte finish vast whiteness with little black wiry hairs poking out, like evergreens on a ski slope.
And I start to phase out again, sleep... almost there... here we go...
What made that latte at Black Dog so effing good and others are less effing good? Was it the flavoring? Maybe he used whole milk. He seems like the whole milk type... I shouldn't be having whole milk... Sleep. Flutter. Flip over the pillow. Ah, here it comes. And goodni--.
My car's wheel is making a noise. Not quite a squealing. Not quite a screeching. God damnit! I'm up. Maybe I should take up smoking. Rip off the sheets. I'm part pissed off. Part lonely. Part turned on. Part nauseous. Completely and totally awake.
I wake up and my pillows are sans-pillow cases. The clock says 5:45. I open the windows and start plucking my eyebrows and listening to the radio.
And that's how my night ends.