Because hormones are the next best thing to a Scooby-Doo villain, I guess.
Maybe they burned out the hot flash/night sweat circuits or maybe they just got bored. After a while, I got up to see if I’d accidentally taken my day meds instead of my night meds. Nope, that’s not why I’m wide awake at Stupid O’Clock in the morning. This is hormonal insomnia. Well, that’s okay. Hormonal insomnia isn’t one of my frequent fliers, and given a choice, I’d rather have hormonal insomnia than hormonal anxiety. Well, if I were given a choice. If it were actually that easy, I’d stick with the hot flashes and night sweats.
Truth to tell, I suspected I was going to have some sleepless nights coming up anyway. This December was my original estimated time of departure. I didn’t believe for a moment that it would be (I’ve probably said that about a thousand times, here and elsewhere). But when a doctor gives you an expiration date, it kinda sticks in your mind even if it doesn’t come true. And though I didn’t believe it, I tried to imagine what it would be like but as I never got within spitting distance of Death’s Door, it didn’t seem like a productive use of my time so I stopped.
Anyway, starting tomorrow, 1 December, every day is a party. They won’t all be noisy and lively parties; some will be too sedate to really be worthy of the term. But I’m calling them parties anyway. From 1 December till…well, who knows? Whatever I’m doing, I’ll be partying. If I’m writing, I’m partying. If I’m in the bathtub, I’m partying. If I’m reading, I’m partying. You get the idea.
I was actually going to wait until 1 January 2017 to start the party by springing out of bed and yelling, ‘In your face, Mortality, now turn up the music!’ And then I thought, why wait? Why not just start a month early? And you know, I couldn’t think of a single good reason to wait.
I’d start tomorrow but I’m going to need a day to recover from this monster bout of insomnia.