Queen of Sleep

Anybody who's known me for long knows--if only peripherally--that I have long lauded myself the Queen of Sleep. I've fallen asleep on park benches, in classes, in airports and bus stations, etc. It's not that I can't keep awake when I want to (I'm not narcoleptic), it's just that if I'm tired, I don't have trouble nodding off. And, unlike, say, Kasey, I can be asleep at night in seconds flat. I've never woken up for small sounds and I've never really had any chronic problem with insomnia. In my past life, I could just lay down and wake up eight hours later, rested, with no trouble at all.

Emphasis here is on "past life." I don't know what it is, but for the last month or so I just can't seem to get a decent night's sleep. I either wake up every twenty minutes or wake up after two or three hours and stay awake. Tonight, I feel into bed at 1 am and was up for good at 4. WTF? What am I doing? Sometimes--like tonight--my body is tired, but my brain is just roiling, but sometimes I'm not even worried/excited/plotting/tense. Sometimes my head is quiet but my body just won't stay tired enough to sleep.

Those who've been caught in insomnia's half-nelson before probably think I'm just whiny or naive. But this feels so weird. This doesn't feel like me at all. When I find myself just--awake, night after night, I almost feel like I'm in someone else's body. Occasionally it makes me freak out about my health, and I just roam my room in my underwear, asking silent questions while I pick things up and put them down again.

Am I eating the wrong foods (quite possibly)? Have I started drinking too much (almost certainly)? Am I not getting enough exercise (definitely)? Is this some weird, hormonal, sexual thing (just what the fuck would that be)?

I don't know. But I don't think I like insomnia. I may still be the me that can float off in front of the TV, on top of someone's leg, and in the doctor's waiting room, but I've lost my cardinal ability--the taken-for-granted privilege of being able to drop into deep and restful slumber. The kind with REMs. The kind that, you know, knits up the raveled sleeve of care, repairing whatever damage the day has done. And I really miss it.