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There must be something about old age and a brain that refuses to turn off after we lay ourselves down to sleep.

I’ve suffered from it for years: laying there, eyes closed but visions of things to do, things done, things not done, things to worry about, things no worrying about can change.

Laying there, eyes closed, feeling every little itch, pain, tic, sheet wrinkle; hearing every noise, real or imagined throughout the house, the wife softly snoring, breathing; the cats moving about or laying still, purring. Hearing the seconds tick by on the clock.

And not sleeping.

We’ve an elder friend who cannot sleep; he goes for two or three days with brief daytime naps, but he cannot sleep at night. He gets up in frustration and watches TV in the wee hours. Every third night or so he will sleep for a few hours, and then he repeats the cycle.

It affects his health. It affects mine.

Don’t talk about counting sheep or all the other so-called remedies. We’ve heard them all.

If they worked, we’d sleep.

We’re insomniacs.

Graybyrd   ©   2015