Yes, a writer’s lament. Well, likely a lament many people erupt with in our modern times. So many things to worry about, tossing and turning as the long hours of the night tick-tock away.
I’m really tired of sleep skipping, as I term it.
You know how people skip stones across a lake? Well, that is how I don’t sleep. I skip across the surface of sleeping. A record amount of skipping… with very little sinking into the still, nurturing depths of actual sleep.
Night after night. Unless I succumb to the sleeping pill. Something I am loath to do.
What keeps me awake? Sure, I’m thinking of stuff…promotions, the new book, the old book, the present work in progress… How cluttered my house is. How out of control my yard is. The new sewing project. What I’d do if I won the lottery (hint, hire people to declutter my house and do the yardwork rate wa-a-a-a-a-a-ay up there.)
But night after night, these meanderings wander away and instead I lay there, wondering why I’m not falling asleep.
Yes, I could sleep in. If I my body didn’t throw me out of bed with aches in the morning. Hips. Man, my hips just scream at me that they can’t stand another minute, get the hell out of bed!
They win. I get out of bed.
To face another night of skip sleeping…