Blogging the Relationship (12), or, Insomnia

It's a Saturday morning, technically.

More idiomatically, it is still Friday night. It is 4:30 in the morning. Both the men in my life are asleep--my furball is on the futon, his normal place, all 75 pounds of him sprawled out, covering 3/4 of the available sitting space. LT is asleep in bed, of course, like a sane person.

I am not. (Asleep or, apparently, sane.)

I awoke about 3:40, got up, peed, turned off the lights in the kitchen and sealed up some chip bags, and got back into bed. I sighed. I rolled over. I tried snuggling, thinking that would help me sleep. It didn't. All I did was wake up the LT every time I moved. I got back out of bed.

The LT has a theory about sleep: that your body has an ever-running sleep deficit or Debt, and that it keeps track of how many hours you need versus how many hours you get, and if you're low, you can make it up--the LT swears you need only 15 minutes extra for every hour of sleep you've missed. And that the Debt can run several days, or in fact eternally, until you make up that lost sleep.

I must be in the black, then.

It's amazing how loud the littlest sounds can be when you're cognizant that two people you care about are asleep. Opening and closing the microwave sounds like a gunshot, the actual running time sounds as loud as the vacuum. I just went and closed the door to the bedroom and noticed for the first time how LOUD MY FLOORBOARDS ARE, holy crap, I was practically playing a symphony at full volume. LT sighed and turned over in his sleep.

It's been awhile since my last bout of insomnia, and back then I would fart around on the internet, read some blogs, and maybe go back to sleep. At this moment I don't want to read ANY blogs. My obsession with the printed word is becoming a hatred. I'm tired of reading and writing, I'm tired of keeping up with people I'm never going to meet. I have a full life here in RealWorld. I'm tired of trying to write my novel, a novel that will never be completed, and I'm tired of trying to keep up my blog, of the pressure I put on myself that I MUST write, tired of reading writers like Dooce and realizing I'll never be as good as they are, not in a million years, not even if I do nothing else but pour over my own words for the rest of my natural life.

Yawn.

I have a big day planned today: the LT and I are helping my parents haul wood away to the dump this morning--in fact I'm getting up in less than an hour--and then I'm driving down to Portland to meet a bunch of people I've never met; I'm going to a Vegan Meet-Up. Here's hoping I don't fall asleep in the car.