I am officially engaged in a Battle To The Death with my own brain. This is what is known in science as a Lose-Lose Situation. The precise rebel factions of this meat in my head include the hippocampus, the amygdala, and the hypothalamus, specifically the ventrolateral preoptic nucleus. All of my counterinsurgency research has been pursued on the internet. I am not trying to diagnose myself; I simply like to have a name attached to my mortal enemies. CURSE THE PART OF MY BRAIN THAT LETS ME FALL ASLEEP AND ISN’T LETTING ME FALL ASLEEP does not have the pithy ring of FUCK YOU VENTROLATERAL PREOPTIC NUCLEUS. You see what I’m saying. If I were to allow the Procrastination Salon to be infiltrated by my Personal Problems, I could rename it “AMYGDALA AND HIPPOCAMPUS: TWO BAD NEIGHBORS.” This will not happen, but I find strange comfort in the knowledge that it could.
Long story short, I could not sleep again last night. Clocked a few more tortured hours of the ongoing Law & Order marathon that is my life. But this is old hat. The real turning point in the war was when I arrived home from work at 10pm to my Best Earned Drink Of The Week and was overcome by a headache so crippling it made my whiskey unpleasant. OH NO YOU DINT. There I was, deprived of my post-pedagoguery digestif, consigned to bed with nothing to do but apply Tiger Balm and will my amygdalae to shut up about the day already, which they will not. My pillow smells like my grandfather’s pillow. I am the miserablest girl who ever miserabled.
The happy epilogue of the war story is that I finally slept from 11am to 2pm. And that I plan to resume regular procrastinations as soon as I destroy those parts of me that are against me.