At least Auggie is sleeping.

as my insomnia settles in.

Man, I am not sleeping these days. I could blame it on all the obvious stressors of the world. I’m sure that isn’t helping, but this was happening long before Donald Trump was a thing, or New World screwworms were invading our country. Look it up, but please do it at 2 a.m. and then try to go back to sleep. Let’s just see what happens.

One thing that wakes me is that I need to go to the bathroom about an hour after I go to sleep. Bombing my kidneys with multiple antibiotics for two years damaged the part which is supposed to recycle and concentrate urine during the night—at least that is what the oldest, oldest man on earth told me. To clarify, he was a doctor. I mean, I think he was a doctor.

I first saw him walking v-e-r-y slowly across the waiting room. He had a white lab coat on, but it had a huge rip in it, almost like someone had ripped the pocket clean off. It also had some stains that were more disturbing because they looked so old. I think I would’ve felt less concerned if there were fresh blood stains because sure, gross, but at least you can imagine how that would happen in the course of a doctor’s workday. What I could not imagine is how he put on this filthy old coat and thought, I’m ready for work! Of course, when I first saw him in that coat, I had no idea he was my doctor. I thought he was probably a volunteer of some sort, so it was a surprise when he walked in my exam room.

I know this sounds agist but that’s just because I’m agist. I am young enough to be annoyed by people older than me, but old enough for my adult children to get annoyed with me for doing the same things the really old people do. We are all just doing our best. My kids are old enough now that they occasionally tell me a story they’ve already told me, and I don’t mock them. I just write it in a notebook where I track these things so at some point I can tell them how many times they’ve done it. For the record, I don’t mind having an older doctor because that’s a lot of knowledge and experience, but it does concern me when he seems so frail I am tempted to ask him to hop on the exam table so I can check his vitals.

So that little old fella was able to use the computer well enough and was very kind. He explained all about the part of my kidney that had stopped working and why he couldn’t treat it with steroids because though they’d likely help, they are also really bad for the kidneys. Let’s face it—this is how almost all medicine works. We can give you this, and it will fix your problem, but your arm will fall off, or maybe you’ll grow a new, smaller arm in the middle of your back—but that other issue will be all cleared up! The main bothersome effect of this kidney damage is the insomnia, and I’ve decided to quit fighting and just lean into it.

I am past the part where I’m cranky and feeling sorry for myself. Now I just wanna see what happens. Maybe I’ll finally write that cookbook, or that children’s book I’ve had on the back burner for 12 years. Maybe I’ll watch all the seasons of Love Island. Probably that. Those dum dums are very soothing to watch. Some writers—-lots of writers—maybe most writers use alcohol or other substances to relax and access their creative mind—-or maybe they just really liked getting high and took up writing to justify it. I am sober so that’s not for me, but I did hear David Sedaris say recently that he’ll stay up and write for 24 hours sometimes because he likes the way it feels—it loosens his brain and lets him get into a flow state. He’s also sober so I guess that makes sense. It is a paradox of writing that you need to be able to get into that state, but also as a writer you’re always observing and taking things in, which is not relaxing at all. Hence all that alcoholism and heroin use.

Now I am very relaxed. Exhaustion is really the only way I have to reliably relax. It’s not healthy, but it works. Let’s just see what happens.