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  Time was when I could spend the day connected to a liquid caffeine IV and still get eight hours of sleep that night. Sure, I regularly woke up shaking and in a cold sweat. But who didn’t?
These days my body doesn't go for that. If I even glance at a cup of coffee after 10 in the morning I'll be up until 4 a.m., the next day, shivering like a Chihuahua with stage fright. Indeed, I got the idea for this post at roughly 3 a.m., roughly three hours before I was to go to work, because I drank some tea that night that I thought was decaffeinated. Turns out it was liquid speed.
When I can't sleep I just lie there, trying desperately to fall asleep but unable to keep my mind from pondering the wonders of life. Unfortunately, as I'm both exhausted and under the influence of a major stimulant, my brain isn't exactly operating on all cylinders and thus my pondering isn't altogether useful. Consider these thoughts: - Maybe the sleep gods hate my guts.
- If I removed the garage from my house I could have a full-size basketball court.
- How come my face doesn't get more muscular because I'm always chewing gum?
- Why must I count sheep? I don't have any sheep. Why not chickens? Or eggs? Eggs are worth counting, because you never know how many there will be. Why can't we just pretend to count eggs? Who's the idiot who comes up with these stupid ideas? Why aren't I downstairs doing something productive instead of thinking about egg counting?
 Eventually, the caffeine wears off and I fall asleep, probably about five minutes before the alarm goes off, leaving me to wander through my day in something like a walking coma.
This wouldn't be so bad if I didn't live with a wife who could fall asleep in a wind tunnel full of flutes. If she were a car, she'd have what mechanics call a low idle, meaning she'd stop running at stoplights unless you step on the gas a bit. Indeed, she once drove a Ford Taurus that did the same thing. As they say, a car can tell a lot about a person. Hers said "my owner falls sleep anywhere." It might have also said, "I'm dull and family oriented and I break down all the time and get terrible gas mileage," but, of course, it wouldn't be true. And my wife reads this stuff.
Before we had a child, living room conversations in the evening would eventually become one-way affairs. At some point in the evening she'd just stop talking. I'd look over to find her slumped onto the side of the chair, her mouth agape and actively pronouncing the letter "Z."
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Dorky Dad
