I’ve been traveling for weeks, had a cold since before Christmas that I haven’t completely shaken, and have been working out like a mad woman in honor of the seven cows I consumed while back in the Midwest for the holidays. Yet for some reason, I can’t get any damn sleep!
I’m in Las Vegas this week for work, and can only attribute this mess I’m in to information overload. Watching the faux sun set over St Mark’s Square in the Venetian amidst the cacophony of roulette whirs, craps cheers and video poker jeers simply screams mental fatigue. Yet the carefully choreographed overstimulation has, by design, the opposite effect – insomnia.
I’ve tried the usual remedies… eating earlier, drinking oodles of wine, reading Hemingway (always worked for me in high school), counting woolen creatures, etc., and I still find myself up past my bedtime thinking about the most inane things. I should be spending this time pondering the meaning of life or the opening line of my memoirs, but instead I think about more important things like whether or not I should have put a five on black today, or when I’m finally going to pick up the blue marker that fell under my desk in October, or what the difference between leeks and green onions is, or how the heck they stuck a pretzel inside of an M&M. And then I have to focus even more so I can remember to check table minimums, pick up the marker, and Google leeks and candy the next day, which makes it even harder to snooze.
Why do the oddest, most irrelevant things keep us from a good night’s sleep? Although I’m proud I haven’t succumbed to spending this time gambling, as Mother Nature intended, I’d SO much rather be snoozing than trying to figure out the name of that chick that was on Partridge Family and then in LA Law.
Well now that it’s almost tomorrow, I’m going to take one last peek of the strip out my twentieth story window, and just hope the chaos below exhausts me on the spot.