Last night I made a fatal error. For the life of me I could not fall asleep. I usually hit the astral plane while reaching for the light switch but on this night I lay awake, waiting . . . waiting . . . but peaceful oblivion never came.
At 2 a.m. I wrote in my journal: “It’s no use, the muse won’t let me sleep.” Bleary-eyed, desperate, I got in the shower, hoping the luxury of hot water would beat the insomnia devil out of me. If only I did not have to get up early, walk dogs, feed cats, pack car, get dressed, look good, and go to my book signing in faraway Santa Paula to which probably nobody will come. Then I could have channeled my hyperactive mind into a story. But I feared that if I turned on the computer then I would be really doomed!
Then it dawned on me. At around 11 p.m. I thought I’d have a nice cup of hot tea. Everything looked so homey in the dim yellow bug light, cats snoozing on my pillows, Honey’s large black body sprawled in the center of the mattress, and Chico wrapped up in a wicker basket. A cup of tea would cap the scene. Why oh why didn’t I just hit the hay? Instead, without thinking, I drank a cup of Zhena’s coconut chai black gypsy tea. The label says, CAFFEINE MODERATE.
Realizing this, I stopped fighting, wrapped myself up in three yoga blankets like a mummy, and just lay there flat on my back like in Savasana, Corpse Pose, watching my breath. . . . and sometime, before the crack of dawn, slipped slowly into merciful sleep . . . .
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