MY BRAIN

It was Sunday night. I tend to curse weekends, or Sunday nights in particular, because in just two days I am able to throw off my entire sleep schedule so completely, that I am always a zombie on Monday. I lay there in bed, tossing and turning, at one, two, three in the morning, not at all tired, and completely unable to force myself to sleep.

Usually when I reach a certain period of sleeplessness, say deep in the middle of the night, some term or question gets caught in my brain, unable to get free, like I have an FCC-approved version of Tourette's Syndrome. I remember one time during freshman year of college when I couldn't stop asking myself some question about Steven Soderbergh's filmography. I didn't know it very well and I couldn't remember which came first, The Limey or Out of Sight, or maybe it was Erin Brockovich/Traffic related. Who the fuck cares now? But it was pissing me off for totally unknown reasons. I finally fell asleep, annoyed.

Or there was the time two years ago when I couldn't get the words "The Maldives" out of my head to saunter off to slumber. The evil midget bastard inside my head kept repeating it like on a broken record all night. I should have just punched him; that would have knocked me into a nice sleep.

On Sunday, it happened again. I couldn't stop thinking about the words "mortar & pestle." Without the sexual overtones, of course. This was only an exercise in language.

I had seen a set at IKEA that day and I don't often see mortars and pestles. They make me think that if I ever used one, I'd feel like a caveman. They're so primitive.

Anyway, I was stuck in a rut, looking for a groove. I couldn't find one.

Damn those spice tools; how they keep me up at night!