I’ve become a pretty bad sleeper.  I’m not sure how or when it happened but insomnia now has itself so shackled to me that begging, pleading, wine-drinking, exhaustion cannot release the chains.  (It might have something to do with the thesis…these days I’m blaming everything on the thesis!)

Last night’s inner monologue:

Please let Kate sleep past 5 a.m.

Dynamic.  That’s it.  Dynamic was the word I was looking for when I was writing about elite culture today.  Don’t forget that.  Dynamic.

Is Jack’s soccer game Saturday or Sunday this weekend?  Don’t forget to check.

Go to sleep, Elizabeth.

What can be done about Harper??   Is Jack fighting hard enough?  Seriously Ontario,  I’m still mad at you.

I’d really like a night of blackness.  Deep, peaceful blackness that carries me away from consciousness for 8 hours.  A dream?  Perhaps.


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