Talking To Insomnia

Insomnia has plagued me off and on since I was eighteen.

This is a recent conversation I created with Insomnia late one night. Yes, I have personified Insomnia. Insomnia is now a being. An it. And I talked to It. It talked back. Clearly I am losing my mind.

“Hello, Insomnia. Three in the morning. I can’t say I’m surprised to see your sorry self here.”

“Greetings, Cathy. It’s a pleasure to see you again, my friend.”

“Insomnia, you are not my friend. Let’s get that straight. Do you know how exhausted I’ve been over the decades because of you?”

“I apologize. But you’re worrying, as usual, which is what keeps you up, not me, so I came in for a short visit to see if I could offer any comfort or solace.”

“There’s a lot to worry about in the world. Shootings. ISIS. Maniacs. I get really upset when other people are upset.”

“The world is making all normal people really upset right now. I know. I’m Insomnia. I’m with them at night, too.”

“Plus, I’m worrying about my kids.”

“The children have always been your main worry focus. If I may make a polite suggestion? You worry about things that aren’t happening and probably won’t happen when it comes to Adventurous Singing Daughter, Rebel Dancing Daughter and Darling Laughing Son. Your mind takes off in unnecessary catastrophic directions. I’ve seen where your mind goes. Worry about a problem if and when it arrives, not beforehand.”

“I can’t help it. They’re flying off into the world so I envision all the disasters that might get them including earthquakes, large spiders that bite, and rabid wolves.”

“The slimmest of slim chances that any of those things will happen to the children, so why worry now?”

“Because it’s what I do. I worry.”

“It keeps you up at night. Then I come to keep you company.”

“You’re not very good company.”

“I will endeavor to become better.”

“And I’m also worried about my book.”

“Do share. What’s the problem?”

“It’s hard. The characters are all over the place. They all want to be wild and rebellious. I think they’re picking my energy up. I want to be wild and rebellious, too, but I’m a mother so I can’t. I have to have dinner on the table by six. Two characters are angry and I can only have one angry character. My main character wants to have up against the wall sex with the stud in the book but I won’t let her and she’s throwing fits about the whole thing. I don’t blame her. It does sound like fun.”

“Let them be themselves. Like you are yourself.”

“I’m not a character, Insomnia. I’m a person. Don’t confuse me. It’s already hard enough for me to keep the real people in my life separated from the characters in my head. They all start to blur.”

“Maybe you should try yoga before bed. You’re quite tightly wound.”

“I hate yoga. All that quiet time where I’m supposed to find Zen. Who is Zen? It’s very frustrating.”

“Perhaps a straight shot of whiskey before bed, Cathy?”

“Very funny. You know I don’t drink the devil’s vinegar.”

“May I suggest that you start?”

“No, Insomnia, you shouldn’t. I like to be in control as much as possible.”

“People have very little control over their lives. It’s an illusion. Trust me.”

“You’re annoying me, Insomnia.”

“You’re often annoyed. You’re Type A, Cathy. You’re impatient. You still have a temper even though you’re getting older. I was hoping that you would mellow out a bit at your age and that would help you sleep.”

“I have mellowed out! How dare you tell me I haven’t mellowed out. What’s wrong with you? I’m mellow. And I don’t need you reminding me of my age because then I’ll worry about old things happening to me like bladder leaks, unnecessary flatulence, and uncontrolled burping.”

“Ah. You’re again worrying about possible medical challenges in the future that will probably not actually appear.”

“Why not? Someone has to do it. You’re not being helpful, Insomnia. I think I’ll try to go to sleep now.”

“Well then, I’ll head on to the next insomniac. It’s almost four, you should be fine. Around four your body finally collapses.”

“Please don’t use the words, ‘your body’ and ‘collapse’ in the same sentence. It triggers my very slight problem with hypochondria.”

“Forgive me. Goodnight, Cathy. Pleasant dreams, friend.”

“Goodnight, Insomnia. And we’re not friends. Remember? I already said that.”

“Pardon me. Pleasant dreams, person.”

“Goodnight, Insomnia.”

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