Sometimes I cry out in my sleep. Ok, not really cry, but whimper plaintively. A vestigal plea for my parents to wake and comfort me, in the throes of a bad dream. Now that I'm older, my own cries rouse me from sleep and I must comfort myself—an apt metaphor, no?
I occasionally wake up in the middle of the night with a fit of insomnia. Although I'm reluctantly awake, hazy remnants of slumber must still hover. Because in these times, I frequently have random, obsessive thoughts. Not of the OCD variety, but I can't banish a name or image or idea from my head. It's never anyone I know, so it doesn't imply a real life preoccupation. For instance, once Felicity Huffman's name throbbed recursively in my head.
This morning, as I tossed and turned—repeatedly catapaulting cats across the room—I kept thinking, "I should use this time wisely and cut my toenails. I should use this time wisely and cut my toenails." Here's where it doesn't turn into a compulsion. Instead of getting up to trim my toenails, I got up, ate Life cereal and read Quilting for Dummies.