vs. Insomnia

By a show of hands, how many of you have ever experienced insomnia, or as its known by its more common name "Why the *BLEEPING* Hell Can't I *BLEEPING* Fall the *BLEEPING* *BLEEP* Asleep!!"?  (Yes, I can tell if you raise your hands or not.  And don't roll your eyes at me!)  Unfortuntely, no one can seem to pin-point the exact cause of the condition, though scientists have made enormous headway researching such theories as: the Incessantly Barking Neighborhood Dog Complex, the Spousal Snoring Disorder, and the Probably-Shouldn't-Have-Drank-That-Last-Double-Moccacino-With-Marshmellows-Since-Its-Already-Midnight-itis.  This is a condition that affects extremely large portions of the population; if one knows what to look for, the signs are everywhere.

That bus-driver you saw this morning with bloodshot and pouchy eyes?  He didn't get more than 3 hours rest last night.  Or he' drunk.  Might not want to ride with him again, I think he was slurring his words.

The cranky check-out girl?  That's right, she hasn't been sleeping well for the last few days and it impaired her decision making ability, resulting in that truly horrible hair cut.  And I'm pretty damned sure you'd be pissed off too if you looked like that!

 That boy in gym class wearing the cut-off t-shirt and hot pink short-shorts with the word "Sassy" written across his bum?  He's barely totaled 20 hours of snoozing in over a week and didn't notice when he grabbed his mother's work-out bag instead of his own gym bag.  Why he actually wore those clothes, nobody really knows...

Pretty much anywhere you look, you will probably see someone dealing with sleep-deprivation.  Especially if you were to look at me!  I have fought some long bouts with insomnia, lost most of them, and had all the classic symptoms beat into me: irritability, lack of focus, extreme fatigue, temporary insanity, my ankle metamorphosing into a tortoise, and paranoia.  Did I mention the temporary insanity?  Now, in my experience, insomnia comes in  4 stages.

Stage 1 Insomnia:  Pretty mild, mostly not being able to fall asleep for a few hours, wake up tired the next day, bleary-eyed.  The worst thing is usually forgetting to comb your hair.  Might last for 2 days.

Stage 2 Insomnia: Not much fun as it can last for up to a week and 3 A.M. comes and goes cheerily while you are nowhere near sleeping.  You have tried watching movies, reading books, and only stopped counting sheep when you forgot what number comes after a bajillion (the correct answer is a bajillion-and-one, in case you were wondering).  There are some dangers involved with stage 2 insomnia, though, primarily centered on the inability to pay attention to what the hell you are doing at any given point.  Clothing myself properly has always been my particular Achilles heel during stage 2.  I've started my morning work commute in my shirt and tie, sleep shorts, and dress shoes more times than I should be admitting to.  Other dangers include getting sucked into late-night TV marathons of "The Golden GIrls," "Red Dwarf," or "Poirot." Also, the QVC threat-level goes up six or ten notches and the likelihood of buying ceramic salt and pepper shakers shaped like orangutans hanging from trees is increased exponentially.

Stage 3 Insomnia:  Now its getting serious.  Sleep has avoided you like a dog being chased by the vacuum cleaner and it is nearing two weeks since you last caught and managed to hold onto some Zzzzs of any kind.  While you are at work you are equal parts surly bitch and clumsy jackhole.  You would probably admit to being paranoid about everything but you are absolutely sure that doing so would be precisely what they wanted you to do, those crafty bastards!  Things make less and less sense to you but, by a happy coincidence, things that shouldn't make sense are suddenly entirely plausible and seem perfectly natural, so, rationally speaking, everything is on balance and is just as it should be.  If only the stupid curtains would mind their own business and stop staring at you all the time, that is!  There are few things more irritating than nosey draperies, am I right?   Then things begin to get a little…strange….  Since you are not sleeping anyway, you decide night has become the perfect time to do something constructive, like gluing all your vegetables to the ceiling so you always know where they are or apply SPF-50 on the south-facing walls of your house before all that exposure to the sun gives them melanoma.  At some point - you are not entirely sure when, though, because time has become fluid, spilled onto the floor, and your cat licked it up thinking it was milk (now its breath smells horribly like Wednesdays, blach!) - you come the conclusion that your complete failure to sleep for a fortnight is the direct result of unethical scientific experimentation being perpetrated on you by the plastic disposable cups hiding in the basement.  Sadly, though, all your attempts for a political injunction have been futile since the Pillsbury Dough Boy merely giggled at you and said, "I can't even read!  Hee hee!!" and not for the first time you seriously regret voting for him as Prime Minister.  At least the family of acorns that moved into the corner of your bedroom are sympathetic to your plight and have repeatedly invited you to play Scrabble with them to help keep your mind off things.  You're not sure you want to though because acorns are horrible spellers in general.  All this wouldn't be so bad, if only the recent funky flavor of the night, like somebody mixed Raisonettes with the planet Jupiter, didn’t make your tongue retain so much water.

Stage 4 Insomnia:  You haven't slept in a month and are more than likely dead.  Dude...that blows.  Sorry.  Hopefully, you've bequeathed your ceramic orangutan collection to someone who will love them as you did.  Which won't be me, I'd rather have your records if you don't mind.

"So, now what?" you may be asking.
To which I would reply, "About what?"
"Is there anything to be done about insomnia?" you would more than likely say.
"Probably," is how I think I would respond and I would definitely be ignoring that frustrated look you would be giving me.
"And that would be...," you would be forced to say and I would kindly ask that you please try to keep your irritation to a minimum, its highly possible that I won't have slept in quite some time and may have a rather nasty headache.
"I don't know.  Eat properly.  Get plenty of exercise.  Go to bed at reasonable hour.  Don't watch TV in bed.  You know, all the things you are not doing now," I would say in a sage manner and refuse to choke on my own hypocrisy.
"Oh," you would say and I'm sure at that point I could see in your eyes the despair at having to change your lifestyle.  "Is there anything else?"
"Drugs."
"YES!"
Personally, I don't mind a few sleep-deprivation induced hallucinations.  In fact, I think I'm about two nights away from having a lively debate on the merits of nuclear power with a highly respected bunch of helium balloons on which I've drawn smiley faces.

I hope I win; nothing gloats like helium.