I’ve had occasional bouts with insomnia in the last few years. I’ll go four or five days a month with 2-3 hours of sleep in a row. The first night of more than 6 hours of sleep after such a restless time feels like I’ve won life’s lottery. Colors are brighter. The weather is perfect. Any of the world’s problems is just a matter of a good conversation away from being solved.
This sort of insomnia is only made worse when it isn’t in my own bed. Dealing with hyper-sensitive emotions in the middle of the night is torture. I remember a series of nights I managed this alone in a hotel room in Mozambique, where the TV station was stuck on a Portuguese cooking show. I was soon a zombie, and fairly certain I was never going to cook with salted fish.
I’m on the road this week for work, thoroughly enjoying the warmer ways of Southern California. Palm trees, a Pacific breeze and Mexican food that is just so, so good, and a weekend planned with some of my closest friends. Thankfully, today after more than a full week of this utter misery, I’m back on track and full of sass and vigor. Last night was interrupted only by the sound of the person (or bear) in the next room who snored so loudly, I awoke at 2 am. Note to self: time to upgrade hotels.
Now, give me more coffee, and get out of my way.