I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep.
I can't sleep.
At 11:30pm, I was fully tired of staring at student papers, but I felt a little wound up, so I took a hot shower. The shower reminded me that I haven't had a proper, luxurious bath in several months. The last time I had a proper bath was at a very creepy hotel in Haifa last summer. It was creepy because everything in it harkened back to the Golda Meir years of the 1970's. Yes, my faithful travel companion, Dr. B, agreed with me that we were in a scene straight out of the film "Munich". At one point in our 24 hour stay, I attempted to re-enact a scene in which I played Golda herself and Dr. B played the main character guy and we pretended to smoke cigarettes in a darkened room and plot revenge for our fallen brethren. But, even if the shag rug was perfect for the scene, Dr. B took himself far too seriously for my little shenanigans. (It didn't even matter to him that my Golda Meir impersonation was on point, Israeli accent and all.) If memory serves me correctly, this was about the time that Dr. B declared that he would no longer drink Golan Heights' wine with me on our little overnight, data-gathering excursions through the land of milk and honey. According to Dr. B, wine was impractical for a number of reasons beyond the obvious issue that we were responsible adults who would not sleep together for lack of anything better to do. Humph. In retrospect, I really did find Dr. B's Protestant boy scout ethics incredibly admirable. I had a certain respect for the way he didn't insult my entirely When-in-Rome ethic without completely squelching my soul. It was also really wonderful that he didn't talk too much, either. Props to Dr. B.
Yes, it is 4:21 am, and I am fairly certain that my eyes are still going to be open when the birds start chirping. I think it's safe to officially declare that I have insomnia.
The fact is, yeah...I've been under a little stress. Ok, a lot of stress. Ok, more stress than I have been under in years. Last week it occurred to me that I was actually far less stressed during that hellish month of my Ph.D. field exams. In fact, I am suddenly overcome with a sense of nostalgia for those days. At the very least, those were the days when I could get into my own bathtub if the feeling moved me and sit there with a book and a candle or two. I was also in a big enough city to have my pick of any yoga studio and acupuncturist on the block. And don't get me started on healthy restaurants. Yeesh.
I miss yoga. And acupuncture. I miss public transportation. And bookstores. Coffee shops. Most of all, aside from simple privacy, I miss anonymity. I miss being able to get lost and found again in any number of the galleries I wandered in my wonder lust for art and authenticity and inspiration. I miss knowing where I was going but enjoying the detours. I miss impromptu meals with friends. I miss the sunshine and having my roller blades in my trunk for the frequent occasions that I would stop on my way home and skate round the park, just for giggles. I miss living in the same town as Slinky. Just having her nearby made me feel like the world was less of its axis...on most days.
Ah, gosh, I miss Big City, U.S.A.
I miss the rabbi.
Why is it beyond poetic that I have insomnia in the middle of nowhere? Or that I have culture shock in the frozen food aisle?
It really is such a shame that I don't do drugs.
For the first time in my life, I'm getting a migraine at least once a week. Perhaps I should blame this on the fresh air of Upstate New York.
Now 5 am, and I somehow need to be fit enough to teach all day...in 5 hours.
Help. It seems that I am jet lagged in my own life.