I have been an insomniac for a long time. It has been bad for the past couple of years, I guess, and may be more noticeable since I’m not up every two hours because of a crying baby.

When I was younger, my insomnia generally spawned from creativity. When I was self-employed and held odd hours, I’d get my best ideas at two in the morning and run down to my office to explore them. I still wake up with design ideas for my current job, but most often I wake up with worries that are very real, yet generally futile at this time of the morning. (3:28, in fact. Duly note this time stamp if you start to sense that I’m a bit delirious.)

Typically, I keep a lot of these worries to myself. I’m starting to wonder if that isn’t part of the problem.

So, now that I’m up, I will go ahead and document them in an attempt at self-therapy.

I worry about the things a Single Mama is supposed to worry about. Money. My job. My family. The house. Things I’m undoubtedly forgetting. Taxes. The fact that I rarely cry. That I didn’t notice the warning slip in my daughter’s backpack that she was low on lunch money, and she had to eat one of the humiliating cheese sandwiches they serve when you’re out. Damn! I had the money.

I worry that staying in my house after the “Big D” was a mistake. If I had moved to a condo, I wouldn’t have to buy additive for my snowblower’s gas tank, or fear my kids or myself will break out teeth tripping on my driveway, which heaved up about two inches higher than my garage floor this winter. But then I worry that trying to sell would be impossible right now, due to the fact that the market is wretched, and my house is in a state of disarray that would possibly make Peter Walsh faint. And what if that leak in Brett’s closet wakes up and starts dripping again?

I worry about my Mom, and the fact that the same chemo that is kicking her cancer is making her legs and hands numb.

I worry about my Dad, who is a rock for everyone.

I worry that my parents will read this and worry more about me.

I worry about my sister, brother and sister-in-law, just because.

I worry about friends who are suffering from all sorts of family, health and life problems.

I worry about work.

I worry about things I’m forgetting, like my license plate renewal. Where the heck is that form, anyhow?

I worry about the fact that I can operate and still be quite productive with 3 or less hours of sleep per day. Can that go on forever? And what about these black bags? They aren’t getting better, that’s for sure, and no amount of Definity Eye Illuminator seems to even make a dent these days.

I’m sorry, but… OMG! Is it any wonder I don’t sleep?

Help! I know I’m not alone. How do you cope with your worries? How do you put your brain to rest? I’ve tried introducing relaxing hobbies (knitting), reading more, etc. I know I’ll never solve the world’s problems, or maybe even all of my own, but isn’t there something other than Ambien that I can do to improve this?

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