Never marry an insomniac

At this point in my insomnia career, I’m pretty adept at knowing when a bad night’s gonna hit me. I can feel it in the spinning of my brain, in my inability to concentrate and the compulsion to pace endlessly around Supergenius H.Q.

I had such a night last night. I did everything I was supposed to do. I took a nice cold shower, I read, I practiced long into the night, and yet in my post-orgasm bliss I tossed and turned with eyes that refused to close.

I was angry because someone from the past, someone we’ll call James because that was his name and I cannot remember the nickname that I gave him, popped into my head mid-practice and that’s just bad news. Such bad news.

There I was laying in bed with the breeze cooling my body and thinking of an ex. At that point I was entirely too pissed off for someone who just came. And, weirdly, enough the only thing besides the ex that I could think of is the first two paragraphs of Sandra Cisneros’ story “Never Marry a Mexican.”

If I had my Vodo book with me, I would transcribe them for you. But I don’t.

The story is magical and beautiful. The first few paragraphs talk about the stupid things the narrator had done for the love of a man. When I first read those two graphs my breath was knocked right out of my chest. I had written virtually the same sentences a hundred times over in the archives of iwilldare.com.

Angry and stubborn and laying in the dark is no way to get to sleep. Angry because I was thinking of someone who hurt me, thinking of him when I should have been thinking of some dark-haired beauty who hasn’t hurt me. Stubborn because I refused to get up out of bed, to write about how angry I was. I actually chanted inside my head, ‘do not get up, do not pull the sheet back, do not get up.’

Because, yeah, chanting’s a good way to get yourself to sleep.

Eventually the anger subsided, I fell asleep and all was forgotten. Until I was sitting in an informal meeting this morning with Al, the cutest girl on earth™ and the J-Bot 3000. I was suddenly so overcome with the need to get Sandra Cisneros’ Woman Hollering Creek that I had to leave and order right then lest I die.

I’m happy to report that I’ll probably live.

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