Insomniuhhhhhhh

Up until recently, I'd always thought that insomnia was a sexy sort of affliction.

I blame this on the fact that I know too many sexy insomniacs -- like Hannah Miet, for instance, who is always popping up on Twitter around four o'clock in the morning, sharing some incredibly witty and well-read observation or posting a link to a profoundly intellectual think-piece on a site I've never even heard of, leading me to believe that not being able to sleep goes hand in hand with being incredibly, unstoppably smart. (And also, with having great tits.) Insomniacs seemed like a vast population of brilliant, unquiet minds, so busy thinking and creating and rapid-firing their neurons that they just couldn't turn off that churning intelligence long enough to fall asleep.

As it turns out, the only insomniacs like that are like that anyway; they're fascinating people who can't sleep, not people made fascinating by sleeplessness.

I know this, because I can't sleep. And it hasn't made me smarter or more interesting at all. As far as I can tell, the only effects are dull, unshiny hair and a zombie-like feeling that not even the biggest caffeine jolt can cure. If I hold very still, I can actually feel the skin on my face sagging toward the floor.

Although I've dabbled in not-sleeping in just about every possible way -- barring spending the entire night wide awake, which thankfully hasn't happened yet (and hopefully never will) -- my specialty seems to be the middle-of-the-night interlude. It is the worst kind of insomnia. I hate it much more than the can't-fall-asleep sort, which at least lets me continue whatever I stopped doing in order to go to bed, and I also hate it much more than the awake-too-early sort, which at least offers the option of starting my day. When I wake up at four, I can almost pretend it was a lucky break. Such an early start! I'm going to be so productive!

When it's 4:00 a.m. and I've been awake since 1:30, it doesn't feel like an opportunity.

My particular sort of insomnia is anxiety-related, supposedly, but it hasn't been kind enough to let me know what I'm anxious about. The stuff that wakes me up is a mess of unproductive nothing. My brain goes off like a firecracker around two o'clock in the morning, and no matter how tightly I keep my eyes shut, my thoughts are up and running and rattling around too loudly to be ignored. And unlike the other insomniacs I know -- those fascinating, sleepless people -- the wee-hour workings of my mind are pretty much the opposite of brilliant:

THOUGHTS FROM MY BRAIN: A HALF-HOUR SAMPLING

2:37am: What was that movie where Jude Law played a robot jigolo?
2:38am: Oh right, A.I.
2:40am: That wasn't a very good movie.
2:45am: I wonder what Haley Joel Osment is doing right now.
2:47am: I wonder if robot jigolos will exist in my lifetime.
2:48am: I wonder what their penises would look like.
2:49am: I wonder what Jude Law's robot penis would look like!
2:52am: Would it be erect all the time?
2:54am: It would be more realistic if it started off flaccid, then got erect.
2:55am: But technologically, that would be difficult.
2:56am: Is there such a thing as a penis bone?
3:00am: If Brad and I were going to have a threesome with a robot, I would want it to look like Jude Law.
3:02am: Brad would probably think that was gay.
3:03am: So maybe it should look like it isn't necessarily male or female, just sort of androgynous.
3:05am: Maybe it could look like a spider!
3:05:12am: What?
3:05:25am: What the fuck is wrong with you? A robot sex spider? Are you fucking kidding me? Who would ever want to have sex with something that looked like a spider?
3:06 - 3:15am: [chorus of "Apologize" by One Republic on loop repeat]
3:16am: FOR FUCK'S SAKE, NO, I DO NOT THINK THAT SPIDERS NEED THEIR OWN SEX ROBOTS.


So, dear readers, here's hoping that I manage to get some sleep soon.
For all our sakes.