I wonder, if someone reads something here that they've already read, are they disappointed? Suppose I mention something in a personal e-mail, then I make an entry about it. Does the e-mail recipient yawn because they've read it before, or, like someone working backstage at the theater, can they still manage to enjoy the show even though they know what's coming?

My first real bout with insomnia came when I split from my ex-wife for the first time. It seemed like I'd go days at a time without sleep. Eventually, I could find no solution except the one that so many others in my position had already made a cliché - I drank until I passed out.

Well that got old very quickly. It also got expensive. So I stopped doing that. Fuck, it was almost 20 years ago.

These days, when the sandman is late for his visit, I don't drink. I imagine.

I run through scenarios in my head, so I won't be taken completely by surprise. I have conversations with people that aren't there, so everything is nice and rehearsed in case they ever are there.

This is my version of counting sheep.

Even when my mind won't let me imagine anything except the terrible, I still find some comfort, some relaxation, in playing these little scenes and conversations out in my head.

Lately, it's almost always the same thing, this little playlet that I run through my mind late at night. I'm not going to describe it because I want my e-mail recipient to remain privy to some things that only belong to us. I will say though that it's a happy, yet poignant, little scene, and one that's becoming increasingly less-likely.

Like I said, it's almost always the same thing. Almost always.

Last night it was something different. Last night I welcomed a new costar into my nightly drama. And the two of us acted out what's probably the most unlikely scene I've ever imagined.

And I went to sleep right away. I wonder what that means?

The potential problem with running these scenarios through your head is trying to keep from being disappointed when they don't come true. The one I thought about last night has a shelf-life of three days. So, by Sunday night, I'll have to be ready to accept that it's not really going to happen.

And then I'll have to find more sheep to count. Probably the same old sheep. I've gotten used to them. They're like pets.

And this metaphor is breaking down very quickly, so I'm going to stop typing now.