Out of the Frying Pan.

Whew! I am surfacing now. Ahhhh.

I am surfacing because it is Friday Night. I am allowing myself to stop thinking about work, having a few beers, and taking it easy. I have been back at work for the past two weeks, and I’ve achieved more in this short time span than I had for the past three months. Granted, the past three months’ progress was mainly measured in knitting. This is significant progress I am feeling when I get home, now that I am actually contributing something to others. This progress is the kind that makes you satisfied at the end of the day.

Unfortunately, this is also the progress that has been keeping me up in the middle of the night. It is not my job I am thinking about: it is merely the stimulation of the day’s work that is keeping my mind creating and thinking too much. I did not anticipate this reaction.

I have tried counting to two hundred. I have tried counting backwards from two hundred. I did it five times the other night. Not helpful. I got to the point where I thought if I made it as slow as possible, I would fall asleep. I’d count every time I breathed in and out. Breathe in slowly, one. Breathe out slowly, one and a half. Breathe in, two. Breathe out, two and a half.

I also tried remembering the lyrics to a song I heard in a movie, but this just got me all revved up and making up lyrics of my own. I got way too creative, and before I knew it, what started out as an actual lullaby in a movie had turned out to be a techno hit in my mind, complete with synth beats and progressions. This made my sleeplessness even more upsetting and, in the end, a stressful and awakening experience. The weird thing is, I think I actually composed a potential hit. It was freaking good! My toes were wiggling, my heart was racing, it was almost like I was on some dance floor in a smoky, crowded club. Not a very calming method. I should have just gotten dressed and headed out the closest club to dance it off.

After speaking to a friend about my trouble sleeping, I resorted, the next night, to her method of imagining a calming setting. I ended up, after much trouble visualizing my quiet space, in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, right by a lake. I was sitting in a huge, plushy cushioned, comfortable chair, looking at the small, slow waves licking my own private beach. The air was filled with the smell of grass and earth and the distant buzzing of crickets. I think I had a martini right on the armrest of this Adirondack-like chair. I could feel the sun on my legs. It was wonderful, and not unlike something I have actually experienced. I looked right, and there was a thick forest of pine trees and ferns. I turned my head slowly, breathing a long breath of contentment, and looked left.

The alarm clock read 3:30 a.m.