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Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
Laura experienced two types of insomnia: the eyes open at 3am, might as well read type that was almost a guilty indulgence, and last night’s kind which was grinding, anxiety-riddled funky awfulness where she couldn’t read, couldn’t sleep and simply had to wait forever for dawn when she’d get up, puke from the stress and try to make it through the day.
Does it make sense that I woke up after dreaming about having trouble falling asleep, and was really, really tired?
Rifling through my desk for a purchasing agent’s phone number, I found instead a quote I jotted down while watching The Big Sleep (although I cannot remember whether it was written by Raymond Chandler, who wrote the novel, or William Faulkner, who wrote the screenplay): My sleep is so close to waking that it barely merits the distinction.
The newspaper carrier was younger than I remembered - or was he a substitute? - and he talked perfunctorily into a cell phone as he slowly traversed my neighborhood at 5:30 a.m.; I wondered, but was afraid to know, what business he could be conducting at such an hour.
Years of intermittant insomnia had led Pearl to take more comfort from late-night infomercials than she ever had from bedmates or sleeping pills.
This is my sure fire cure for a restful night sleep; a pepperoni pizza liberly sprinkled with red peppers, a good lager and a collection of short stories by H.P. Lovecraft.
“Life is something that happens when you can’t get to sleep.”
It was easier for Bart to tell people he had insomnia than admit the truth, that he was addicted to the sensation of being sleepy.
I've seen it several places so I can't attribute it properly, but lately I found the perfect description for my own nights: I sleep like a baby -- I wake up every two hours, crying.
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