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Broke Wife, Big City
Diary of an
Insomniac
By Aprill Brandon
You know a fun time to start thinking every thought in the entire
world? From 2-5 a.m. Although 9:30 p.m. to 1 a.m. is also fantastic.
Or, on really special occasions, both of those time frames in the same
night.
How many baby wipes
do we have left?
What’s the date?
When are taxes due?
I forgot to clip
the dog’s toenails again. Poor baby. He’s practically walking on stilts.
How can Anna Faris
possibly have moved on from Chris Pratt already?
Just laying there in bed. All snuggled up. All quiet and calm. While
your brain races around like its been soaking in a solution of bath
salts and Red Bull.
I don’t care what
my husband says. I’m still pretty sure I could outrun a bear.
I should sign up
for another 5K. See if Emily wants to run with me.
Man, when is the
last time I talked to Emily? It’s been...months. She probably thinks
I’m an awful human being.
Oh good, now I’m going to painstakingly analyze every female
relationship I’ve ever had one by one to search for signs of just how
awful and selfish I am.
This isn’t the first time I’ve suffered from insomnia. It’s happened
periodically for months at a time throughout my life. Even as a kid I
dealt with it. But this current bout is particularly cruel since both
my kids are now sleeping consistently through the night. So, of course,
now that I finally can, I can’t.
Insomnia. Is that a
good column idea? Probably not.
What was the name
of that mom I met on the playground again? Sounded something like
Blippy? Or maybe it was Karen? Ugh. Why can’t everyone in the world
just wear name tags?
Stop thinking about
that comment on Facebook. Stop thinking about that comment on Facebook.
Stop thinking about that comment on Facebook.
The bags under my eyes are so heavy I have to pay an extra baggage fee
every time I fly in an airplane. I’m having trouble finishing my
sentences because my brain is an auto-pilot. In fact, my 4-year-old has
gotten really good at finishing my thoughts for me.
Me: Honey, please finish your...um...
Riker: Food?
Me: Yes. Thank you. And then put your plate into the...thing...the
place…
Riker: Kitchen?
If I fall asleep
RIGHT NOW, I can still get a solid three hours. Sigh. Breathe. Relax...
Where did that
giant mystery bruise on my thigh come from? I wonder if, when you die,
along with learning all the mysteries of the universe, you also get a
montage of all the times you got a mystery bruise and what actually
caused them.
Speaking of
montages, how do I stop this memory that just arose unbidden of that
time I got really drunk when I was 29 and made an ass out of myself?
It sucks being bad
at a necessary biological function. I don’t want sleeping pills. I want
to be able to hear if my children need me in the middle of the night.
And life isn’t worth living if I have to give up coffee. So right now
I’m just trying to ride it out. Clinging to the hope that the insomnia
will end on its own soon.
I know I don’t have
to pee now but I probably will in roughly 17 minutes so maybe I should
just get up and go now.
I should really
change all my passwords again. Except I don’t know any of my current
passwords.
I’m going to die
before I watch all the shows I want to and before reading all the books
in the world. That’s so DEPRESSING.
Maybe insomnia is a
good column idea.
Chris Pratt should
marry Aubrey Plaza in real life. That would show Anna.
I now dread going to bed. I know the only thing that awaits me is
tossing and turning. Racing thoughts. Irrational anger at the quiet
snoring of both my husband and my dog.
And then there’s the whole pretending to be a functioning human being
the next day.
But I guess it could be worse. It could be...um...the...uh...hey,
Riker! Come over here...
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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