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July 22, 2005

Volume 3, Issue 22

The word of the day is:

Insomnia

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Comments

Insomnia asked for Sleep.....

Melatonin proclaimed, "Take me about two hours before you want Sleep, have a nice wind-down routine (cup of tea, bubble bath, whatever), then Sleep will come, and you will wake up refreshed!"

Ambien chimed in, "No, take me...you'll find Sleep and never wake up in the middle of the night. And when you get up afterwards, you won't feel groggy!"

Benedryl replied, "I provide a double effect of allergy relief and Sleep!"

Fan suggested, "White noise!"
Pillow recommended, "Cover your head!"
Earplugs offered, "Block out sound!"

Shaking his head, Sheer Exhaustion sighed, "Just pass out, dude....."

Posted by: K. Brown at July 22, 2005 5:58 AM · Permalink

I will not see it again. I will not let it in my head. I will not watch her struggle. I will not tell her she can go. I will not go into the endless, useless loop of watching her stutter sigh her last as doctors, nurses swarm around. I will not be left helplessly holding my new little girl, life traded for life. Brew the coffee and throw it on my lap; I'm not sleeping tonight. Turn up that music loud. "Trouble with dreams is they don't come true." Well, Mr. E, I'm far more afraid this one will.

Posted by: funklord at July 22, 2005 7:13 AM · Permalink

I've been up for like three days now and sure this stream-of-consciousness thing has been done before but who cares because the coffee TEH COFFEE is keeping me awake and I am using it to finish the computer program that is due electronically by midnight yesiree.

I am almost done now but I wonder will I dream when I sleep and what will those dreams do to me when they find out I've been avoiding them for my black floozie my coffee-drink because I have brittle bones and they break easily and broken bones hurt.

Maybe I just won't sleep.

Posted by: G-Do at July 22, 2005 8:34 AM · Permalink

They joked that insomnia isn’t anything to lose sleep over but Tim’s had gotten so bad that he couldn’t even sleep on the job.

So he went to a sleep disorders specialist for a series of expensive tests. EEG monitor, treadmill tests, powerful muscle relaxants; they tested him inside and out.

“We can’t find anything physically wrong with you,” the doctor finally said. “I suggest that if you want to cure your insomnia that you just have to stop taking your troubles to bed with you.”

“I know,” Tim replied, “but I can’t. My wife absolutely refuses to sleep alone.”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at July 22, 2005 10:23 AM · Permalink

Bill hadn’t been able to sleep since he heard the news. He laid in his bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, wondering if his life would ever be the same. He had been expecting it of course, but it was still quite a shock. Bill thought about his hopes, his dreams, his future. Things were not supposed to end up like this. Slowly, a plan began to form. It was a good plan. He wasn’t done – not yet. Tomorrow, he would take care of it. He’d fix it. They’d all see. Now, if only he could a little sleep…

Posted by: Bcat97 at July 22, 2005 10:45 AM · Permalink

Most mages seeking immortality dispense with the need for sleep early on. It's about needing more time, often just to work unceasingly on the riddle of eternal life.

Those who succeed often try to reacquire the habit of sleep, with varying results. Shadow-Pompeii's Proconsul thrashes futilely in bed each night. Once per decade he gets it right, and slumbers for five months. His wife cannot sleep except during those hibernations, and doesn't bother to try otherwise. His first minister, who must rule where the Proconsul merely reigns, has not slept more than an hour at a go since Cathage's sack.

Posted by: Jeff R. at July 22, 2005 10:56 AM · Permalink

First I took apart the toaster. Then the microwave. Then the refrigerator. None of them worked without power anyways. I reassembled them all but mixed up a few parts in between. I didn't use tools, did I tell you that? My fingertips are all bloody and my hands ache so bad I can barely stand it. I have got flopsweat running down my back and the house smells like something's died. I suppose, in a way, something has. I haven't had running water or lights in two weeks. I eat what I can steal. Crytal Meth is a helluva drug.

Posted by: Gabe at July 22, 2005 10:58 AM · Permalink

Bruce looked at me across the campfire; narrow eyes reflecting the flickering flame. “The natives talk of a Dreamland, mate,” he drawled. “They say that when you sleep you go there and can talk to all the loved ones you left behind.”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed absently, throwing back the last of another cup of thick coffee.

“Wouldn’t you like to see your Sheila, again, mate? Maybe that will help you get to sleep.”

“It’s all bloody aboriginal nonsense! Besides, if I wanted to see that ungrateful whore, I’d just go walkabout and dig her up from where I buried her.”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at July 22, 2005 11:18 AM · Permalink

I remember being able to sleep. It's been a while.

I spend a lot of time reading web pages. Luckily there is so much material out there that I never run out of things to read. I can't concentrate long enough to read novels any more.

The television is on for the noise.

Every few days I try strong drink. It will induce passing out for a few hours, but as soon as it wears off I'm awake again. Then I'm hung-over as well as tired.

Sleeping was heavenly. Now it's dark all the time and sleep won't come.

Hell.

Posted by: david at July 22, 2005 11:32 AM · Permalink

I rub my eyes and stare at the monitor screen, clicking from website to website. Try as I might, sleep won't come. All night long, webpage after webpage, over and over. It's a quest, something I have to do before I can sleep, one little thing I'm looking for that could release me from this insomnia and allow me to rest. I look, visit a few more sites, come back and look again - still not there - more sites, back again, over and over.

Finally, there it is - someone has posted the new theme of the day over at 100 Words...

Posted by: hnumpah at July 22, 2005 12:05 PM · Permalink

He sat there quietly in the interrogation room, his face and shirt covered with blood.

The door opened and two cops entered the room. One of them sat in the chair across the table from him. The other paced back and forth angrily.

"Ok, let's go over this again.", the first cop said. "You admit to taking a baseball bat and beating your roommate to death, right?"

"Yes.", he replied.

"Why?", the second cop asked.

"Insomnia".

"You couldn't sleep?"

"No, he couldn't."

"What?", the first cop exclaimed.

"He just wouldn't shut up about it and let me sleep.", he replied.

Posted by: Gahrie at July 22, 2005 8:03 PM · Permalink