Sleepless

It's four o'clock on Saturday morning, and I can't sleep. I would probably still be lying awake in bed, cursed with random thoughts about the human condition, but my musings were interrupted by the sound of my dog throwing up on the bed room floor. It was a pile of puke about the consistency and color of soft chocolate ice cream. After about ten minutes of gagging and dry heaves, I had scooped up and scoured most of it from the Berber carpet, and I'm no longer the least bit sleepy, so here I am. Actually, I'm expecting a phone call from Tim at any minute. He's likely to be awake, futzing around the house, waiting to call me and go to Starbucks as soon as it opens. He suffers from the same insomniac condition as me.

I love to sit in public places and watch the characters stream past. Years ago, I traveled a good bit for the company I worked for, and I never minded layovers, because I could sit and read, and watch a never ending variety of travelers. I could sit there, glance up, and speculate about their stories, observe how they were dressed, and occasionally get to witness their odd behavior. Airports are not nearly so entertaining now, although I think a job screening the passengers would be fun. The county fair, the Walmart at three in the morning, or the Department of Motor Vehicles, are also excellent places to observe the aliens that the men in black keep watch on 24/7.

There,s a lot to be said for being awake at four or five in the morning. Things are quiet, no traffic, TV or radio on, and the rest of the house still asleep. I worked with a guy years ago, who saw a PBS Nova program about sleep. This show premised that sleep was just a primitive way to keep us out of trouble at night. As in not being eaten by predators with better eyesight. I think science has debunked that theory now, but anyway, my friend decided that he would ween himself from sleep. The thing that really encouraged him to try it was that another fellow in our office only slept a couple of hours each night, and as a result, was incredibly productive. For a month or so, Rob went to bed a little later each night, until he was down to about three hours of sleep per night. I guess I should also mention that each morning he increasingly looked like shit. Predictably, Rob finally gave up his quest for around the clock awareness, not because he needed the sleep, but because he became bored. I guess, if there had been an Internet back then, he would have started a blog.