If Insomnia Was a Casserole.

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Full mind, empty stomach, and the AC's too high. Cue insomnia.

My little bouts of insomnia have never been predictable, but I like to pretend they are. Usually I require a good 9 hours of knocked-out sleep to function like a below-average human being, but sometimes (like now) my brain shouts, "Go swab decks, you lackey! No rest for you!"
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Tonight is a momentous night. I've changed my coping-mechanism. Instead of wallowing in my own sleepy frustration for three hours or more, I allowed myself a 45-minute test run. When those 45 minutes passed and I remained nowhere near the Sandman's residence, I leaped into action.

I flipped on the light (burned my eyes), made a large mug of malted milk (drool), turned on some Natasha Bedingfield  (her clean songs), and cooked up a 10-minute tuna casserole (my new favorite, quickest, and cleanest meal).
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In my past insomnia hours, I used to think, "What if I just got up and did something productive instead of trying to sleep and failing?"

Tonight is the night. It's a quarter past 1am and I plan to write like an inspired madwoman until my eyelids mutiny.

Cheers, mate.