In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle

I cannot sleep tonight.

I normally sleep like a narcoleptic rock that's recently had a concussion. I fall asleep after only a few minutes and you'd have better luck rousing Kurt Cobain that you would have waking me.
I can sleep through storms, traffic noise, neighbors' parties and street concerts.

One Saturday, when I was in high school, my stepfather suffered a mild heart attack just after dawn. My mother woke me for the fifteen seconds it took her to tell me what was happening, that I shouldn't worry and that she would call me after the ER doctor had seen him. She tells me that I asked if I should come with them and that she said no, though I honestly don't remember the conversation because I was really still asleep. I then proceeded to sleep through an ambulance and three fire trucks, with lights and sirens on, pulling up to the house, a half dozen EMTs tramping through the house, dragging a stretcher up the stairs to my parents' bedroom and hauling my stepfather out through the garage. I slept through my mother calling three times from the hospital. I only woke up four hours later when my parents returned home and actually shook me to wake me up and tell me that everything was okay. I'm not heartless; I just sleep that deeply.

I own four alarm clocks. It takes that much to wake me up.

And I cannot fathom why I can't sleep a wink tonight. Nothing's on my mind. I've no deadline looming and no personal crisis to contain. I'm good for money and pretty much happy all around. Things have been going pretty well for me lately, save a bump on my bike but I'll heal from that in short order. I got plenty of sleep the last few days and I'm not hugely off my circadian rhythms but here I am looking dawn in the eye on a one cup of coffee day and I'm not even drowsy.


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