A portrait of insomnia and its consequence
As I lay in bed, my brain is acting like a puppy on cocaine, or speed, or a triple espresso. The insomnia of my mind consumes me, but I also observe it — as though I splinter off into a third party, viewing an annoying and caustic muse. In this puppy-brain theater, the manic mongrel frantically runs around the house with no apparent goal in mind. It dashes down a…
