Scrambled Eggs

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,

Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:

Relieve my languish, and restore the light,

With dark forgetting of my cares, return;

And let the day be time enough to mourn

The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:

Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,

Without the torment of the night's untruth.

Cease dreams, th' imagery of our day-desires,

To model forth the passions of the morrow;

Never let rising sun approve you liars,

To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.

Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;

And never wake to feel the day's disdain

Samuel Daniels 1562-1619

During "the shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth," I sang Dominick Argento's setting of this poem. Music was my life for so long, and I don't take my experiences with it lightly. Old friends often ask me if I still sing. And I reply that I do. I sing in the shower; I sing opera while doing housework, probably to the puzzlement of my neighbors within earshot.

Those who thought me a diva may be surprised by this, but singing in public was never comfortable for me. It was rather uncomfortable in fact, in a I-want-to-barf-my-brains out sort of sense. Nothing beats the feeling or comfort of singing in a choir: nothing rivals the sheer pants-peeing terror of having to sing BY YOURSELF, IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

But I digress.

What was the point of the poem? Yes, sleep is necessary to restore the calm, to temporarily suppress the past, even though our dreams may be liars at times. And the last line? A tad morbid for me now, but at times I have wished upon myself the sweet embrace of eternal sleep.

That's another story. Or perhaps a series of stories.

To finally get to the point, insomnia sucks and I need more sleep. It is my own fault, you see. I drink too much caffeine and consume too much sugar during the day. Combine that with no exercise and you get (shocker) no sleep. Even though I take enough anti-anxiety meds and mood stabilizers to subdue a small horse.

The thought of a small horse brings me to another subject that's been weighing on my mind. It weighs quite dramatically on my body too. Despite my old foray into Beachbody territory, I have re-gained my weight over these long vacation months. How much weight? Only my scale knows for sure. But this lack of sleep and exercise, plus medication, makes for one unhealthy chick.

It really doesn't help that the only time I feel inspired to write is between one and five in the morning. But I guess we don't get to choose when we are inspired. I'm just hoping the clickety-clack of my keyboard isn't reaching the ears of my sleeping husband.

In summary, I've covered stage fright, small horses, insomnia, medication, and inspiration. With a light touch on suicidal ideation.  Without further complication, I'm going to scramble some eggs, much to my mouth's elation.

Sleep tight, or at least until a decent hour. I'll be envious.