Insomniac

It’s almost three in the morning and I’m not asleep.  Business as usual.
Insomnia, according to the mighty Google, is defined as “habitual sleeplessness, or inability to sleep.”  That doesn’t sound quite right, to me.  I’m certainly able to sleep.  I just don’t.  If I really force myself, I’ll pass out, forget a few hours, wake back up.  It doesn’t change anything though.  That whole refreshing feeling?  I don’t know what that’s like.
My face is lit by my computer screen.  Thank goodness for the Internet, or I don’t know what I’d do during these long nights.  I think I’ve read about half of Wikipedia so far.
I’ll tell you one thing.  Being an insomniac is depressing, that’s for sure.  Did you know that every inch of land in every city in the United States, as well as every plot near any road, is contaminated to hell and back with lead?  We did that – humans.  It only took us about four years. 
Thomas Midgely, Jr., noticed that when lead was mixed with gasoline, the engine didn’t knock as much.  By the time he had realized his mistake, the world had been poisoned.  Undeterred, he went on to create Freon to stabilize refrigerators. 
How long?  Oh, it’s been a few months now.  I didn’t notice at first; I was simply going to bed later, and still getting up at the same time each morning.  I probably must have lost the feeling of being refreshed years earlier, since I never noticed that disappearing.  Every once in a while, I’d get distracted, and next thing I knew it would be morning.  It wasn’t until weeks later that I finally couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept.
I haven’t gone to a doctor about it yet.  I really don’t see the point.  It’s not like my limbs are falling off, there don’t seem to be any side effects.  And if I’ve learned anything from my reading, it’s that taking actions often cause more trouble than not doing anything at all. 
Instead, it’s better to sit.  And wait.  And watch.  I’ve got time.

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