Last night, despite a perfectly lovely day without so much caffeine, I found myself at 2 a.m. unable to sleep. I think I passed the optimal sleep window about an hour beforehand. Walking and Talking was on IFC, and I totally got hooked into it.
But I think the real thing was, I spent a couple of hours earlier in the evening cleaning up and reorganizing my study. That room has a tendency to be the catch-all for when we, say, have a party and we've got to get all the stuff out of the front room and the kitchen. Where will it go? On the floor of my study, that's where. Add that to the fact that I'm an acquisitive fiend, an over-ambitious inventor of projects, and, in general, kind of a slob, and you have the wreck that was my study.
In particular, I decided to rearrange my books. Who knows why, for instance, I had two sets of fiction in two widely separated locations on my shelves? And how exactly did I acquire so much poetry? I weeded out a lot of stuff, rearranged so that the collections (pretentious word, but I'm sticking by it) are now each in a single spot, alphabetized . . . Anyhow, I only got through the poetry, the fiction, and the criticism/theory before other activities took over. So at 2 a.m., I got up and finished the job.
Now, I have to face the rest of the room. I'm hoping not to have to face another spate of insomnia to get through it--rather, that the force of my sterling character will spur me to marshal my resources, gird up my loins, fresh courage take (that's the Mormon in me talking), etc. Clean study, clean mind. Or something like that.