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Monday, January 09, 2006

I suppose there are different kinds of insomnia, aren't there?

There's deeply unpleasant insomnia, in which you're uncomfortable allnight.

There's itchy insomnia, in which you have an itch you can't soothe, not with any amount of ointment or mind control.

There's musical insomnia, in which a line of music goes through your head over and over again, usually not something you are all that interested in.

There's happy insomnia, in which you're really excited about something that will happen, or could happen.

There's unhappy insomnia, in which you're deeply upset, and therefore can't sleep.

There's inexplicable insomnia, in which you can't sleep, but for no recognizable reason.

There's gastronomic insomnia, in which something you eat, or ate, keeps you up all night.

There's unwitting insomnia, in which can't sleep, but you don't realize it at the time.

There's sleepy insomnia, in which you just stay... rather sleepy the whole night, without ever getting to sleep.

There's argumentative insomnia, in which you argue, either with yourself or with another, all night long.

There's productive insomnia, in which you get stuff done, and keep getting it done, until morning.

There's TV insomnia, in which you just keep watching TV.

There's literary insomnia, in which you read all night.

And there's pan-insomnia, which is a combination of all of the above.

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Sunday, January 08, 2006

A long weekend with a lot of sleep and motion in it, an odd combination, but not so bad after the unusually busy and hectic week I had, getting back to work with all of its vagaries and last-minute surprises. Frequently I found myself wondering if I had lost some crucial part of my brain, trying to piece things together... And now a couple of different writing projects, one short, one a little longer, both causing me to say rather strange things. Music, music, music: a little Iron and Wine, a little Beck, a little stuff I haven't listened to since college (I won't bore you with specific names), a little jazz, a few seconds of Jacques Brel, then the normal Sunday evening tightening of the reins--paying bills, charging the phone (to say what, we wonder), typing furiously, eating healthy (pecans, anyone? oranges? both incurably good for you), reading nada, writing everything, some apologetic emails, some to-do lists, yada. yada. yada.

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