The Overachieving Insomniac
Though I’m not a huge TV person, for professional purposes, I had Direct TV hooked up earlier in the day. I spent much of this gloomy day parked in front of the tube like a zombie, madly clicking from channel to channel hoping to find something, anything to inspire me or distract me or lift me out of the deepest winter blues. Hours later, after watching six back to back episodes of a show we’re working on a new promo for, I felt like an overstimulated kid high on cotton candy and slushies. I realized that there was no chance that tonight would be one of those tuck myself in and pretend to snooze kind of nights.
For that reason, I didn’t bother tossing or turning, nor did I play that game where I forbid myself to turn on the computer (callously messing with my circadian rhythms is one of my only remaining vices) or keep my apartment pitch black in the hopes that I’ll lull myself into a restive state. Sleep won’t be coming for a while (oh no, did I jinx myself by typing that out loud?) and I’ve made my peace with it, but I did realize something else.
I’ve never been great at sleep and since I’m something of a perfectionist, it’s disappointing to try something night after night and still fail at it. Perversely enough, I excel at insomnia, which I suppose is why I’ve turned it into something of an art form over the years.
Rachel, who kind of digs the fact that night is my canvas
