I am having a really hard time sleeping. For almost three weeks, I try to go to sleep between ten and midnight. I fall asleep for about ten or fifteen minutes, and then I wake with a start. My legs feel antsy behind my knees, my brain won’t shut up, and I end up tossing and turning for about twenty minutes, until I get so angry that I get out of bed and read until at least one in the morning. Last night, it was two-fucking-forty before I was able to fall asleep. When I wake up, I have a headache, my neck hurts, and I feel like I haven’t slept at all. This is really getting old.
I know it’s not diet, but it could be lack of exercise. I was pretty damn sick the last two weeks, and running when I have a cold is the opposite of enjoyable. Darin says that I should exercise more, and I agree. I miss running, and I discovered, to my horror, that I’ve put on nearly ten pounds since August — a product of my Body By Guinness and Linux fitness fatness program.

But it’s more than just that. If I’m honest with myself, I actually think my brain is kicking me out of bed every night because there’s stuff I have to deal with that I’ve been avoiding: things I need to write, people I need to talk to, and issues I need to resolve. Anne recently did what she calls “Emotional Housekeeping,” and I think I’m going to do it myself.
So today, I will catch up on e-mail (I got it down to 200-ish, but it’s swelled back up to > 500), and finish several interviews (including Slashdot’s Ask Wil Wheaton Anything). I will also take some ideas that have been brewing in my brains and move them into my The Writer’s Notebook, to make room for new ones. A symptom of my insomnia (and maybe it’s wrapped up in the cause) is a lack of inspiration. I haven’t sat down to do any real creative writing in far too long, and I’m starting to feel performance anxiety, you know? It’s like standing at the edge of a pool that you know is filled with cold water: the longer you stand at the edge, the harder it becomes to get up the courage to dive in.
I hope that getting all these unresolved e-mails and related issues taken care of will encourage my brain to actually quiet down when I want to go to sleep.
Weird . . . when I started writing this, I truly didn’t know why I’ve been so agitated, but I think I just got it — or at least I’ve got it narrowed down. Who says blogging isn’t therapeutic?