insomnia: here I sit, thinking

It has to do with getting old(er), that’s what they tell me. I went to bed at eleven, read for a quarter hour, fell asleep.

At one I was awake, and at two I gave up, turned on the lights, and here I am.

I finished the last of the proofreading for The Gilded Hour, which is always kind of odd. You go through the messy process of giving birth, and then you have to wait to see the product of all that work.

The idea is to get back to sleep,  which means no YouTube, because once I go through that door I find it hard to back out again. I can’t read anything new, because if it’s good, I’ll end up reading for the rest of the night. I can’t read my own work, because if I come across a less-than-felicitous sentence, I’ll have to spend a lot of time worrying about it. There’s always the news, but then when I do finally get back to sleep, I will dream unpleasant things.

So I’m not sleepy, but I bet you are, reading this.

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