Golden Sleep Doth Reign...Where?

Yesterday marked the one-month anniversary of my current bout of insomnia.  After a month of not sleeping, I've gotta admit I'm pretty damn tired.  I think my body is gradually collapsing from the inside out.  And I'm starting to hallucinate. 

This prolonged sleep disturbance has led me to the following list of helpful observations.

Signs You Could Use Some Sleep:

(1) You begin questioning your right to exist.
As you lie awake in bed for the third, twelfth, or twenty-fifth night in a row, you find yourself wondering:  How is this evolutionarily possible?  How, after thousands of years of mutation and development, am I one of the fittest of my species, worthy of survival? I can't even perform a basic life function.  You decide that you only exist because of some flaw that slipped through the cracks of human adaptation and feel even better about your decision to abstain from breeding, as the evolutionary error will die with you.

(2) Your perception of the world becomes far too interesting.

My new friends

Lots of things start happening, particularly in your peripheral vision, that are not actually happening.  You may be found waving imaginary bugs out of your face or having an extreme startle reflex for no reason.  Driving a car at this point is probably not such a good idea.

(3) Your motor functioning goes to shit.
You don't know if it's because your brain and body are no longer on speaking terms or your spatial abilities have just gone on vacation.  What you do know is that you drop half the things you try to pick up and knock over the other half.

(4) You start saying bizarre things.  
The pathway between your brain and your mouth apparently has been severed, so you think certain words, but then you say other words.  For example, a couple of weeks ago I started saying suicide instead of insomnia (e.g., "My suicide is really starting to piss me off").  

If you have an upcoming court date, try to get a continuance to sometime in the future, after you and sleep have reunited.  With your inability to control what comes out of your mouth, you could go in to fight a parking ticket and end up getting 30 days for contempt. 

"WHAT did you just say?!"

Yup, suicide is a trip.  I mean insomnia!  Insomnia is a trip.  Not a happy trip, mind you, like a springtime jaunt to the Netherlands to see tulips.  No, it's more like a journey to Bangladesh during monsoon season.  

What's beginning to concern me is the fact that the effects of staying up all night, night after night, are bothering me less and less as each waking day passes seamlessly into the next.  It's just expected.  I fear that crazy is slowly becoming my new normal. 

As my sleepless nights give way to new days full of existential crises, visual hallucinations, ludicrous slips of the tongue, and multiple spacial mishaps, I give praise and thanks to whoever invented coffee.  Without it, I think I'd already be committed.

Recognizing Tailwinds

Because they are a long stretch of islands with one huge body of water (the Atlantic Ocean) on one side and another huge body of water (the Gulf of Mexico) on the other, the Florida Keys are really windy.  The wind comes from all around, blowing palm fronds madly, sending birds hurtling through the air, and thrusting intoxicated vacationers off piers and into the ocean.  As I'm sure you can imagine, this level of windiness makes for some very interesting bike riding.

Over the past several weeks, I've realized something interesting about the way I experience biking.  When I'm riding with a tailwind, I don't even notice that I'm being assisted.  I just bike along like, "Tra la la!" without thinking of the benevolent force that's giving me a boost.  Helpful as it is, a tailwind feels like nothing.

A headwind, on the other hand, is quite noticeable, in that it is horribly torturous and evil.  When I turn into a headwind, I immediately transform into Boo-Hoo Biker.  I sweat profusely, gasp for air, and jut out my lower lip like a two year-old.  As the wind does its best to blow me backwards, I curse air and everything it stands for.

Here I am utilizing a green plane to represent Boo-Hoo Biker

My aunt once said that she wished people could experience a lack of pain as acutely as we experience pain.  If you sprain your ankle or tweak your back, you know it.  It bugs you constantly, and with each movement you lament your injury and feel like crap.  However, if your ankle or back doesn't hurt, you don't notice.  You simply go about your day, like Al riding with a tailwind, not thinking, You know what?  My ankle and back feel just fine!  How delightful!


This manner of experiencing pain, or no pain, creates a mode of existence in which we feel grumpy when things go wrong, but don't recognize or appreciate when things go right.  This is a problem, because it leads to one honing the ability to feel sorry for herself while ignoring opportunities to be grateful.  And that's bad.  Self-pity coupled with complacency is a combination destined for disaster.

In that same vein, it's problematic that things that are bad for us can cause no pain, while things that are good for us sometimes do.  Take, for example, smoking meth vs. climbing a mountain (or, say, riding into a headwind).  What kind of flaw in evolution creates beings who feel perfectly fine (or even absolutely fabulous) while poisoning their bodies and destroying their brains, but feel exhausted and miserable while they're building muscle and strengthening their hearts?

I've decided to stop trusting my pain receptors so much.  Sometimes they're just not very smart.  Therefore, I plan to stop whining in the face of pain.  Recognizing that some pain is good for me, I will appreciate challenges, even if they're painful.  Instead of thinking, Fuck you, headwind!  Die!  Die!  I'll try to think, This headwind is helping me get killer legs, and I'm fighting heart disease!  Woo hoo!

Seriously, this is awesome.

I also want to make a point each day to acknowledge my lack of pain, and how miraculous it is that, with all of its complex circuitry and opportunities for failure, my body is managing to function quite well. 

It's time to start recognizing tailwinds.  When I'm biking along merrily, not getting slammed in the face by an unrelenting wall of air, I need to take a moment to think, A tailwind is pushing me along right now.  That's cool.  Similarly, I should take time to appreciate the more abstract tailwinds in my life - the cast of characters (friends and family) who make me laugh and check in with me to make sure I'm doing okay; the air, food, and water quality I have the privilege to enjoy; the comfy, warm bed I get to sleep in each night...the list goes on and on.  I have a shit ton of tailwinds, and they tend to go unnoticed despite their awesomeness.

I know it's not New Year's, but it is Pi Day, so here is my Pi Day resolution:  I will work to recognize tailwinds and appreciate headwinds 3.14 times more exuberantly than I have in the past.

:)  Happy Pi Day, folks.

Clowns Are Mofos

For several years, I have proudly displayed the above sticker on the bumper of my car.  Most people who see it probably think, "Ah, yes - another one of those town/region stickers," and then merrily go about their days.  I'm certain the majority of them don't bother straining their eyes to see that CAM actually stands for CLOWNS ARE MOFOS.  Which they totally are.  Fuck clowns.

No one likes clowns.  I firmly believe this.  I don't think clowns even like themselves.  How could they?  What's to like?  The gaudy, oversized clothes and shoes?  The horribly terrifying "I'll-giggle-while-killing-you" makeup?  The completely unfunny acts of crushing themselves into tiny cars or fake tripping & falling?  No.  The only positive thing clowns do is get mauled by bulls.  Now THAT is funny.  Everything else they do is inexcusably revolting.

I realize it's a little ridiculous to be 37 years old and afraid of clowns.  In fact, lately I've been hearing from various peers that their school-aged children share my fear.  "My six year-old told me today that he's afraid of clowns, too!" I guess I should be embarrassed, but I'm not.  I just think those kids are incredibly intuitive.  They understand that clowns are only pretending to be fun-loving and innocent, when what they truly want is to squirt us with acid stored in the fake flowers on their lapels, or pull machetes out of their baggy pants and chop our heads off, or simply grab us & eat our faces.  You know what would've made Hannibal Lecter even scarier?  A goddamn red, rubber nose.

"Can't sleep.  Clown'll eat me."

Recently, I was texting with my friend's nine year-old about our mutual fear of those wretched clown creatures, and we had the following exchange:

Her:  "The biggest fear I have is a boat filled with spiders driven by a clown with NO CANDY."

Me:  "My biggest fear is a shark who is also a doctor, and he's wearing clown makeup!"

Her:  "I would be so scared if he was on the spider clown boat with no candy.  I would definitely not go there for vacation."

I'm glad we could share such legitimate concerns.  It reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister several years ago regarding my husband's fear of bridges.  It went like this:

Sister:  "How will he deal with living in Portland?  Aren't there a million bridges?"

Me:  "Well, he's gonna have to get over that.  It's silly, anyway.  He thinks he's going to drive off the side or something."

Sister:  "Why would he do that?  Besides, even if he tried, there are barriers to prevent it."

Me:  "I know.  It's completely irrational.  Now a fear of clowns, on the other hand, is totally justified, because clowns kill people all the time."

Sister:  "Yes.  Excellent point."    

The lesser-known conclusion to FDR's famous statement

Clowns are evil.  They should be illegal.  At best, they galumph around like hideous simpletons in floppy shoes and are wholly unfunny.  At worst, they want to cannibalize us.  It's true.  Ask anyone, except for a clown.  Never trust a clown.  They only want to kill you.

And so, in conclusion:

Because the only good clown...

Seriously, though, I really hate those mofos.