I have many methods of
dealing with insomnia, none of which work. I'm going through a sleepless period
now, and I've found I just have to tough it out.
A big problem is my pillow. It's dying. Where it used to be spirited and
fluffy, it's now hard and unforgiving. The impression my head makes on my
pillow is the cavity I have to live with the rest of the night. There are no
second chances with my pillow. I try to puff it up, but the hole my head makes
at the onset of bedtime is socked in for good, and the bottom of the head hole
is flat and hard. Some nights the pillow makes a brief comeback, displaying its
old pep, but those nights are few and far between.
Most nights, though, the main problem is I'm just not tired enough, but I go to
bed anyway because I've had enough of being awake. Sometimes I go to bed
hungry, too, which is a big mistake. Then I have to get up an hour or so later
and eat 25 or 30 saltines and 5 or 10 cookies. You say, "Why don't you go to
bed later and eat something immediately beforehand?" My response to that is, I
just don't know.
When I'm flipping and flopping in bed, I don't worry about my life. Most of my
insomnia time is spent with assorted junk running through my head, mostly ‘60s
TV themes and commercials. The theme from Mannix goes through my head, as does
the one from Room 222, and the
semi-circular theme from Dennis the Menace.
Just last night the opening siren-filled theme from Ironside kept running through my head, along with the image
of Raymond Burr lying in a large lump after being shot and before being
confined to a wheelchair. Do you know what it's like to not be able to sleep
and have Raymond Burr in a lump dominating your thoughts at the same time? It
sucks.
Some of the commercials that plague me are ‘60s Ford jingles, like "Ford/It's
the going thing/It's what's happening" and "Only Mustang makes it happen/Only
Mustang makes life great/Only Mus-tang/Only Mustang/Mustang, Mustang, ‘68."
Also, "Smile a little/Frown a little/Give a little grin/Every time you use your
face/Dry skin lines set in/You need new Deep Magic Dry Skin Conditioner."
Another one I can't shake is the old commercial for Score, the hair cream.
"Baugh baugh bup bup baugh bup baugh baugh/Baugh baugh bup bup baugh bup baugh
baugh/Baugh baugh that's the Score/That's the Score/That's the Score."
Many ‘60s songs bother me, too, while I try to sleep, like the Rolling
Stones' "She's A Rainbow." I've spent many hours lying in bed, thinking "Have
you seen her dressed in blue." "Have you seen her dressed in gold . . . She
comes in colors everywhere/She combs her hair/She's like a ra-a-ainbow." Ever
since the Syndicate of Sound's "Hey Little Girl" came out 25 years ago, it's
been running through my head. "Hey little girl I don't want you around no
more/If you come round knocking you won't get past my door. Hah!" It's hopeless
when that one starts up.
If I am able by some miracle to get this crap out of my mind, I then attempt to
hypnotize myself to fall asleep, which fails miserably. I try to visualize a
timepiece swaying in front of my eyes, but I can't get it placed correctly in
my mind's line of vision. It's always off to the left somewhere. I tell myself,
"You can't keep your eyes open. Your legs are getting heavy. You're getting
sle-e-e-epy." But I'm not.
I also try the counting-backwards-from-100 technique, in the hope that I'll
fool myself into thinking I've been given anesthesia like before an operation
and I'll knock myself out, but my body's not that stupid and stays awake. I've
even tried counting sheep, which was totally laughable. They're supposed to be
jumping over a fence, right? That's how counting sheep is done in cartoons, but
maybe the original idea was a headcount of sheep in a field. At any rate, it
doesn't work worth diddly. Nothing does.
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Quirkee Voices 
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