Ah, insomnia. My old, unwanted friend. Here we are again.

The Musings of a Pacific Northwest Scribbler

Ah, insomnia. My old, unwanted friend. Here we are again.

January 11, 2025

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So annoying…

I did everything right, mind you. No caffeine after dinner, no heavy meals post-6 p.m. I crafted the perfect sleep sanctuary: a room as dark as a crypt, screens powered down an hour before bedtime, the house chilled to a frosty-yet-comfortable 62 degrees. I set the stage for sweet, uninterrupted slumber like I was auditioning for some sleep hygiene infomercial.

And yet—like clockwork—I woke up. Again.

I sip water from my bedside table, my husband softly snoring next to me, oblivious to my nocturnal torment. The house hums with its usual nighttime sounds. My fan whirs gently in the corner. The universe seems perfectly aligned for rest—except for the cruel little hamster wheel in my brain, spinning at full speed.

I used to blame this on menopause. But I’m 62 now, and even I can’t keep flogging that tired excuse. Then there’s the head injury from July 2023—sure, that might’ve scrambled my sleep patterns a bit, but how long can I milk that one?

Maybe it’s the doom-scroll hangover from too much CNN and its 24/7 smorgasbord of disasters. Maybe it’s a marathon of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives inspiring my brain to ponder which sauces pair best with waffle fries. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s Rick Astley, endlessly Rick-Rolling me in my own head, crooning, “Never gonna give you up,” on an infinite loop.

Oh, and did I mention the cats? The ones currently tearing around the house like caffeinated raccoons? Yes, because nothing says “sleep” like feline zoomies at 3 a.m.

So here I am, wide awake, with no one to blame but… everything. Maybe I should just embrace it. Write a novel. Solve world hunger. Or just sit here, frustrated and overthinking, while the rest of the world slumbers peacefully. Jerks.

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● About Me

Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest—back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth (or so it feels some mornings)—I’m what you’d call “seasoned.” After a lifetime of wandering around this big, quirky United States, collecting stories, bad habits, and questionable furniture, I’ve found myself right back where I started. Guess home really does call you back, like a determined telemarketer.

This blog? It’s… well, it’s everything and nothing, really. A hodgepodge of childhood memories, random musings, opinions no one asked for, and the occasional tangent about whatever pops into my brain at 3 a.m. Think of it as my mental junk drawer—only slightly more organized and with fewer rubber bands.

If you’re into stories about the good old days (when TV had antennas and phones had cords), reflections on life’s oddities, or just want to hang out in the mind of someone who thinks they’re funnier than they probably are—welcome.

Grab a cup of coffee, settle in, and let’s take a trip through my scribbles. It’s part nostalgia, part nonsense, and all me. If nothing else, I promise you’ll leave here either entertained, confused, or both.

Stick around—there’s plenty more where this came from.