I hate insomnia with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. I've cut down to one cup of a coffee a day, I'm exercising, trying all the fun tricks that are supposed to get your body into the right place for sleep.
Well, the body is willing, but my mind is a raving lunatic, fueled by some sort of demonic energy drink. It moves at a million miles an hour, compiling lists and information, reordering, analyzing, questioning and popping up the random sparkly purple squirrel, just for fun. I spend all night tossing and turning, and finally fall into a completely not restful death-sleep for a couple of hours right about the time I need to get up. If I manage that much.
So, I'm doing silly stuff. I put the peanut butter in the fridge. I put my jeans on backwards (and then spent at least 60 seconds staring at them wondering what was wrong with them). I might have even taken a load of laundry from the dryer and loaded it into the washer. Thankfully, I might also have realized it before I added soap and water. It reminds me of my mother when she worked three jobs, with her shoes and keys in the fridge and the milk in the cabinet.
Damn you, insomnia- let me sleep!