I had trouble sleeping last night. I’ve never in my life suffered from insomnia, so in the one night every 8 months that it occurs, I’m at a complete loss as to a solution.
I’ve read all about what you’re supposed to do in these circumstances, not out of need, but out of concern for my mom and sister who suffer extensively from the co-morbidity of worry and insomnia. Whenever one or the other emailed me about such things as how they were up until 3 worrying that the six month old babies will fall through the crack between the ship and the pier while embarking on our family cruise, I was always able to combat it with quick and easy solutions like, “Did you get up for a glass of water? Try doing a crossword puzzle. Call Mom, she’s probably awake.”
And yet in the clutch last night, none of these options were top of mind. I tossed and turned and kicked Matt hopelessly as I contemplated my life, so different than the life I had imagined I’d be living at age twenty-five. As I half flopped onto my (growling) belly it struck me that this was a quarter-life crisis and a most severe one at that.
I weighed my options which included everything from moving to Montana soon (Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay!) to attending Harvard law school and wound up with the only obvious answer. I needed to start a new blog.
