Clown’ll Eat Me

I’ve been really tired all week, but somehow I’m still managing to stay up until 2 or 3am.

Chaplin seems to be biologically programmed to wake up at about 8am and knock shit over until I drag myself out of bed, so things are not going to be fun until I can convince my body that really, midnight is a perfectly reasonable time to go to sleep.

I haven’t had hard-core insomnia in a while, so I’d forgotten a few things about it. Things get much much quieter in my neighborhood, since the dull roar of the freeway fades to almost nothing.

Sounds I normally wouldn’t notice, like the ticking of the clock over my TV or the ringing in my ears from years of thinking I was going to be a rock star, become overwhelming.

The biggest problem with insomnia when unemployed is that it’s very difficult to motivate myself to get back on a normal schedule, because really, what do I really need to get up for?

Other than, you know, my sanity?

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