Insomnia can go bite its own face.

I've been having trouble sleeping.  In my whole life, the earliest I have voluntarily woken up consistently (not including the times I was racing Clarke to Mommy and Daddy's room to get the premier cuddling position that did not involve almost falling off the bed) was around 7:30.  It was supposed to be 7:00, but I have become a master of speed-dressing.  I could make it from bed to the bus in around 10 minutes, being completely dressed, fed, and have all my school stuff ready.

Now I start work at 7:00.  Between drive time, the fact that I now brush my hair, and everything else, I have to wake up no later than 6:00 am (which roughly translates to 6:22). 

My body does not like this.

In fact, it has instituted a policy of hostile revolution.

"Think you can wake me up every morning at 6:00 am?" it asks, passing me a dark glare.  "I guess that means you just don't want sleep.  Fine.  I'll do exactly what you ask, oh master brain that sets the alarm for such a sadistic hour.  If you don't want sleep, then that's just what I'll do: not sleep."

So, night time comes.  I approach my alarm clock.  I turn it on.  6:00 am, here I come.  I crawl into bed, kick my covers around until I have an adequate number of them piled on top of me, let out a contented sigh, and close my eyes.

Then I roll over.

Then I listen to the girls on the other side of the wall giggling and screaching in really piercing voices and a language that I'm pretty sure isn't English.  I think I heard they were French, but it sounds more like a cross between Munchkin and Pig Latin.

Then I put in headphones and try to fall asleep to the soothing sounds of Vienna Teng, with the occassional Breaking Benjamin anthem spattered in there.

Then I realize that listening to music - previously a surefire way of lulling myself to sleep - hasn't worked and my ear has gone numb from laying on an earbud.  So I take them out.

The girls are screaching again.  It's MIDNIGHT!!!!  Don't they ever go to sleep??? 

Bruno Mars starts playing through the wall.  I hate Bruno Mars.

My roommate rolls over and lets out a moan.  The adjacent apartment is keeping her awake too.

That's it.  I officially have permission from the forces of the universe.  This action is not for me.  It's for my poor roommate. 

I knock on the wall.

The screaching stops, being replaced by whispers so loud I can still hear them... but at least whispers are easier to tune out.  Bruno Mars, whose volume has only been reduced by a single decibal, is not.

I realize my arm is the one part of my existence that has fallen asleep and roll over, checking the clock while I go.  If the rest of me falls asleep at that very moment, I will get roughly 5 hours and 12 minutes of sleep.  Not enough to be alert all day at work.  I really don't want to have to resort to an energy drink, but it's a comfort to know that if I become desperate, I have that option stashed in the bottom drawer of my desk.

The screaching starts again.

HOLY CRAP! THOSE GIRLS WERE ONLY QUIET FOR 30 SECONDS!!!

The night continues.  The screachers go to bed eventually, and I start to drift off.

I shoot up in bed.  WHAT TIME IS IT?  Oh.  2:17 am.  I slept for about an hour.  I close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep again.  It takes a couple minutes, but eventually I realize I'm checking the clock and it's been another hour.

Then it's just after 4:00.  I only have 2 more hours to get any substantial sleep.

Then it's 4:52.  I have an hour and 8 minutes.

I start to get nervous.  If I fall asleep - fall into a deep sleep - right now, my alarm will go off in an hour, and chances are I'll be sleeping so deeply that I'll miss the alarm.

Then it's 4:53.

I roll over, determined not to look at the clock, to savor and preserve this last precious hour of sleep. 

It's been a while, and I still haven't gotten back to sleep.  The clock (yes, I peeked) tells me I have 17 minutes left before that alarm goes off.

I closed my eyes, resigned that I'm not getting back to sleep.

My rebellious body chuckles inside.

I fall asleep.

My alarm goes off.

As far as I know, I have not yet sworn at my alarm clock, though an untelligible jumble of words has drooled out of my mouth as I stumble to stop that obnoxious beeping before I wake my roommate beyond redemption.

So, it's official.

Dear body,
This is war.