Insomnia

I don't have insomnia. I'm just not sleeping well. There's a glut of reasons why this might be. However, I find the psychology of not sleeping and the phases of human desperation very interesting.

The first night when you don't sleep, it's an annoyance. You flip and flop, and then you lay there in a state of grump. Everything annoys you: the temperature, the scratchy sheets, the clock ticking, the soft breathing of a man you've devoted your life, heart, and soul to. It's frustrating, but the next day comes and life goes on with the promise of slumber the next night.

When the next night comes, and you are again not sleeping, the ticking minutes start to nettle you with desperation. You flip and flop more incessantly, convinced that this is somehow your fault, and if you could just get this sleeping thing right (after 30 years of perfect practice) maybe you would be rewarded with unconsciousness. Things that were annoying last night begin to enrage. You want to rip the clock from the wall, find a hammer and make sure it's next tick is it's last. You want to strip every stitch of clothing off because for-goodness-sake-are-we-in-the-amazon?! Then you want to buy a gallon of fabric softener and wash your bedding in it a hundred times.

And you might just start considering how to murder your soul mate. Because God forbid the man breathe.

But day dawns. And though you may look a year or two older, the next night will be better.

On the third night of sleeplessness you turn into The Narrator.

You start composing the blog about sleeplessness in your head as you lay there sleepless (which I am now writing the next day after sleeplessness). It's all so cyclical that the meta threatens to make you philosophical at 2:00am (which is the worst time for philosophy).

You start quoting a movie you have never actually seen, but have heard quotes from and they make you happy. And that makes you so sad you sob loudly enough, to maybe encourage your snoring companion to roll-the-freak-over.

However, you are non-violent. You have never intentionally punched, slapped, or kicked (since being over the age of twelve) another human being. And Fight Club is just too normal for you. You'd go down into your cave in search of your power animal and instead of it being something normal like a lion or a penguin it would be the Pillsbury Dough Boy...

Woohoo.

And that's when it hits you: you are The Narrator of Bake Club.

Except instead of Brad Pitt as your Tyler Durden, your alternate personality is the Pioneer Woman.

"Welcome to Bake Club. The first rule of Bake Club is: you do not talk about Bake Club. The second rule of Bake Club is: you DO NOT talk about Bake Club! Third rule of Bake Club: someone yells "fire!", gets egg shell in the batter, spills the flour, the bake is over. Fourth rule: only two cooks in the kitchen. Fifth rule: one recipe at a time, ladies. Sixth rule: No aprons, no oven mitts. Seventh rule: cookies will bake as long as they have to. And eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Bake Club, you have to bake."

It's a beautiful reversal really: "A girl who came to Bake Club, her derriere was carved out of wood. After a few weeks, she was a wad of cookie dough."

If you just picked up my blog...

"You've met me at a very strange time in my life."