And so, my pandemic insomnia has returned. I found myself snapping awake shortly before midnight, with a kind of panic clutching in my throat. I got up, got a sip of water, took my sleeping spouse's glasses off his face, and turned off the TV. But I couldn't fall back asleep.
That tickle in my throat? Did it signal any invaders? These night sweats: menopause, too many covers, or a symptom? How on earth will humanity work our way out of this?
Once my brain starts whirling that way, sleep isn't going to settle in, so I got up to read a bit. I'm partway through Madeline Miller's The Song of Achilles, which has been on a waitlist at the library, so I can't renew it. What a gorgeous book--not as good as her Circe, but wow.
I tried to sleep again--no good. So I got up and looked through both my Facebook and Twitter feeds. I decided to try again, and finally, two hours later, I was able to drift off.
On some level, I don't mind this insomnia. I've gotten reading done, and in the past, writing. It did occur to me that I could pack a box or two. The impending move is also on my brain. More on that later. Now it is time to get ready for my work day.
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