Insomnia? Who, me? – – and you too?


Sleeping has always been my strong suit. I may have long failed at math and technology, never finished a full marathon, and accumulated an impressive pile of rejection letters; but I have forever taken great pride in my ability to fall asleep. Anywhere, anytime. Occasionally at inappropriate times. And once asleep, the ability to stay asleep has been one of my outstanding skills.

So where did this insomnia come from? Geezerhood? Global angst? Oneness with humanity – since so much of humanity seems afflicted with insomnia? Beginning a year or so ago I have turned into an early-morning insomniac.

Worse (or maybe better, in some complex, comforting sense) it seems to be a universal condition. This theory was reinforced by New Yorker writer Patricia Marx recently in one of her classic explorations of a topic and its related market. “In Search of Forty Winks” (The New Yorker, February 8 & 15) takes readers on a wide awake laughing tour of the gadgets, contraptions, medications, programs and assorted products currently being employed by the thirty+ percent of us regularly struggling to catch a little shut-eye.

It does not help to know you’re not alone.

It does help, a tiny bit, to know you’re not spending the hundreds, often thousands of dollars your fellow insomniacs are spending on headgear, eyewear, electronic gadgetry and bedding while trudging along their sleep-deprived paths through life. But maybe they know something I don’t know.Insomnia - clock

Me? Telling myself stories has always worked as a way to put myself to sleep. (Which may say something about my short stories, but we will not go there now.) I have a few stock stories that end with achieving some great literary goal, or involve wandering off into the sunset on a romantic beach, or, well, whatever. Sketching them out in my head always puts me to sleep midway through. They are not working.

Instead, my brain – that same organ often prone to fuzzing over at random, inconvenient moments – kicks in at 3, 4 or 5 AM. It says things like What are you going to do when your husband’s neuropathy worsens? Does that kid/grandkid/distressed friend need help? When are you going to finish that (fill in the blank)?

The first two by themselves are good for at least an hour, since they are open-ended to the point of the ridiculous. But the third is the killer. It evolves into an argument with myself about whether to go ahead, get up and make some actual progress on the unfinished whatever, or whether that will just make things worse because I still won’t finish it; either way, the rest of the night’s sleep is shot.  Insomnia complications

There are, of course, answers out there. There is a National Sleep Foundation website with rolling banners and tabs about common causes, diagnoses, symptoms and treatment. There are WebMD’s helpful “natural sleep solutions” (lavender oil baths, half a banana with peanut butter 30 minutes before bedtime) and Prevention’s “simple steps (yeah, right) to a better night’s sleep” – all sprinkled with useful data about how sleep loss leads to high blood pressure, weight gain and potentially fatal accidents. Data that’s already keeping you up nights.

Maybe we could worry about it all in the morning? After 7:30 please?


  1. Awakened at 3 this morning, mourning the undone things. Eventually, I remembered your insomnia blog and how replying to it is one of those things. Along came fragments of poems, including that poignant line from Wilfred Owen’s “Strange Meeting”: ” ‘…here is no cause to mourn.’ ‘None,’ said the other, ‘save the undone years….'” I started to get up then, at 3, thinking that playing my electronic piano with earphones might help or would, at least, be doing something. That or lorazepam. Instead, I thought about the memoir I’ve considered writing — a sort of chronicle of my “Undone Things.” That might be its title. Now it’s five and I’ve re-read your provocative and entertaining blog. One thing done: responded to Fran’s insomnia blog. Check. I’ve wondered whether, as we transition into and through geezer-hood, insomnia might be nature’s way of saying: “yes, sleep is good; our little life is rounded on a sleep and all that, but time’s running short, so mustn’t spend so much of it unconscious. There’ll be plenty of time for that ‘later.'” Anon, Bob

    1. I am so happy to be mused upon, even at 3 AM. And I think you’re onto something with a memoir title. Maybe next insomniatime you can plunge in to get it sketched out!

  2. Hope you don’t mind but this is one of your very best blogs. Why? For me your voice rips along in both delight and anguish at what’s happening with your sleep. I love that you search for the universal in our experience and shore it up with science. I’m sad for your malady right now because I was ‘there’ in my 20’s. I was frightened it would never end and yet when it did it took me awhile before I recognized my sleep had returned. Almost 50 years later ‘it’ has not returned. Why? I don’t worry the way I used to.

    But know I practice not worrying about my small world and the larger world the way I used to.

    1. Thanks for those encouraging words. And the encouraging probable truth that the practice of not worrying is a practice worth developing. These are fascinating times indeed.

  3. Well, it’s all about breathing to relax your mind. After a nightly prayer for all friends and family,
    breathe in deeply along with “Our father”, breathe out deeply along with “who art in heaven”
    and proceed with the deep breaths along with the Lord’s prayer. If that doesn’t find you asleep,
    continue with the 23rd Psalm. Works for me — give it a try.

    1. Okay, that sounds like a Plan, dorisdwms. I’ve done the 23rd Psalm to infinity, but maybe I need a better system. Thanks for your lovely thoughts.

  4. Good and funny! It’s nice to know I’m not the only one. We are reading “china boy” for July, right? Love, T. From: Fran Moreland Johns Date: Sunday, May 22, 2016 6:31 PM To: Subject: [New post] Insomnia? Who, me? – – and you too? Fran Johns posted: ” Sleeping has always been my strong suit. I may have long failed at math and technology, never finished a full marathon, and accumulated an impressive pile of rejection letters; but I have forever taken great pride in my ability to fall asleep. Anywher”

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