My prolonged illness has thrown my sleep routine out of whack.

I was exhausted today, so I took two naps — one midday and one in the evening. When it came time to actually go to bed, I wasn’t tired. I tried to fall asleep, but I wasn’t observing any of my bedtime rituals: I wasn’t wearing my CPAP mask, I hadn’t taken my melatonin, and my mind wasn’t calmed.

I lay there staring into space.

Toto crawled over me, searching for the best nesting position. Kris snored. As often happens when I cannot fall asleep, my mind drifted to death. I imagined dying in a car crash. I remembered the day Dad died. I wondered who would die first, me or Kris?

Disconcerted, I went downstairs to the library and read comic books for two hours. Toto came down to keep me company, perched on my shoulders, wrapped around my neck and purring. I read X-Men. I read Star Wars. I read Superman.

At midnight I went back upstairs and crawled into bed. I could not sleep. Kris was still snoring. My sinuses were stuffed. I lay there trying to imagine what kind of superhero I would be if I were a superhero. Would I run as fast as the wind? Would I fly? Would I read minds? Would I sleep?

I got out of bed again and this time took some melatonin. Why hadn’t I done that in the first place? I checked my e-mail. I sat in front of the television and flipped from one informercial to another. There seemed to be some sort of Brendan Fraser fest coordinated between channels. And a Kevin Bacon fest.

I turned off the television and tried to fall asleep on the futon, but a heavy truck lumbered down the road and stopped at the neighbors. I heard Curt come out and talk with the driver. The truck began to beep beep beep as it backed up. For the next fifteen minutes I heard the scrape of shovels and gravel. I could not see from the window, but it seemed to me that the neighbors were getting a dump truck load of gravel at one in the morning.

Eventually I fell asleep. All night I had to contend with Nemo, who wanted to be curled at my side on the narrow futon, and Toto, who wanted Nemo to die.

I’m not particularly well-rested this morning.

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