Insomnia and The Wolverine

I'm an insomniac. Sometimes. For every 2 months of peaceful slumber, I have another month that is completely void of it. Right now, I'm averaging about 45 minutes of sleep each night and, as if my body just aches to drive me mad, it's broken up in 15 minute segments. I'd rather stay up all night for days at a time than endure quarter hour dream segments where the world is either taken over by aliens, blows up, or endures some otherwise unfortunate happening. Most times, I'm one of 4 or 5 survivors but sometimes it's just me. Sorry everybody. In any case, I usually opt not to lay down and instead do one of the following things from my Insomniac Activity List: 1. Watch a helluva lot of X-Files and Star Trek: TNG while doing pushups and situps and/or reading; 2. Make mental notes that the History Channel and ESPN Classic are two of the greatest channels on the telly; 3. Playstation 2; 4. Watch the sunrise... It's a lot more beautiful around here than you'd ever imagine it to be... Probably has something to do with the ethanol; 5. Think. It's frequently the worst of the five, as it often ends up poorly for either myself or mankind.

While engaged in Activity #1, I happened upon this little test that asks, "What Famous Leader Are You?" I found the results to be quite ironic but pondered this for only a minute before deciding that a complete lack of interest in this and the IAL meant it was time for an outing. [Note: When the list fails, I go for late night outings on the Bend. Depending on the weather, I'll either ride my bike or walk until I feel like stopping.] Last year I had an outing to Meijer on Grape. Nothing of interest happened to me directly but I saw a Shell station get robbed while across the street and had to talk to the police about it. These sorry sack "perps" sped out of the parking lot and were so excited about the loot that they rammed their 1978 Ford POS into a light pole and had to be taken away in ambulances. There was no explosion... My inner sociopath wept.

[Inner-monologue: The worst thing about criminals is 90% of them suck at crime. Rarely do they even possess the Basic 3 of criminal behaviour - desire, ability, and opportunity. You can only guess which one is usually lacking. Beyond these though, to which principles should one adhere? When I was 5 years old, my father gave me my first lesson on military strategy. We covered the 9 Principles of War. "MOOSEMUSS, Wee One. That is how you'll remember them." And I have. Mass - the concentration of power at the decisive time and place; Objective - direction toward a clearly defined, decisive, and obtainable obective; Offensive - seizure, retention, and exploitation of the initiative; Surprise - striking at a time, place, and manner for which your enemy is unprepared; Economy of Force - allocation of minimum essential power to secondary efforts; Maneuver - place that your target is in a positional disadvantage through the application of my power; Unity of Command - unity of efforts under one leader; Security - never allowing the target to acquire an unexpected advantage; Simplicity - preparation of clear, uncomplicated plans and orders for thorough understanding. While there are times when the Principles must be followed and others that necessitate they be broken, I can't help but think that correct application during the execution of a crime would yield positive results. That said, we'd have to find an intelligent person to put this information to use ;)... /Inner monologue]

I just returned from an out and abouting. It's currently 7 degrees in the Bend, so I figured the temp would make for a rather pedestrian stroll. It's usually after 3:00 am when the streets become the devil's playground. Blink and you miss it, as sunrise wipes away any traces of its existence. But at this hour of the night, all you have to guide you is the glow of the neon lights, whose unyielding luminescence often flickers when you need it most. While walking past Denny's on 31, I stopped for a moment and looked through the glass. This is the hour at which the frooks come out to feed and it is establishments like Denny's that nick their toll. ... Relatively empty save a man reminiscent of Mr. Magoo. As I made for the door, the light on the nearest pole began to flicker and the parking lot grew dark. I decided to use the other door and took 3 steps in the opposite direction when I heard screeching followed by a mighty wind and an explosion of glass behind me. My neck felt wet.

Some guy was hanging out of the door of a rusted out shitbox missing its front left tire. I ran over, pulled him out, and then called 911. I admit, I momentarily hesitated. I've seen too many Bruce Willis movies where a car crashes and a fly lands on the windshield to trigger a chain reaction of explosions. A policeman arrived within seconds and an ambulance came soon after. I have some cuts on my neck and head but nothing requiring stitches; the guy is going to be okay. From what I understand, someone purposely loosened the tire on his car a la Changing Briefcases (or whatever that bloody disaster film with Samuel L. and Ben Affleck was called). The police are supposed to get to the bottom of it.

After they took my statement and the ambulance checked me out, I was free to go under the condition that I'd visit the ER if any bleeding continued. Advised to go home, I just didn't want to. This had been a bit too much, so I walked across campus to the Speedway on Ironwood. I go there quite a bit in the late hours. The graveyarders know me well and let me run up a tab on fountain drinks and read unlimited amounts of trashy magazines. It has to be stressful working this shift given all the freaks and crazies (I do not include myself here!). People aren't people at this time of night... We're primal creatures capable of transformation, release, and renewal. Who knows what can happen. It is this wonder that often has me sitting in an oasis of neon light, waiting for something to stagger out of the blackness and break up the excrutiating minutiae of the hours slowly passing.

I retired to a booth...

A man entered... 6'2 or so, lanky, and rather pungent. Visually, he reminded me of Wolverine sans bulk and brawn... and claws... and motorcycle.. and rage. He was Wolverine in clothing alone. But I don't mean Wolverine from the Brian Singer live-action. I'm talking about the comic book... Seeing a grown man in yellow spandex was quite amusing. He strutted about the Speedway's 4 aisles impressing no one. Seemed to bother him. I stopped paying attention for a moment before spotting him postured near the front of the store, fizzy drink held high in the sky... "Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night..." Trailing off. Very dramatic. I waited for the next line but he took too bloody long. I stole his flow: "may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright." He stared at me, incensed that I'd ruined his melodramatic soliloquy in such a disrespectful manner. I stared back. This continued for a few more seconds until he looked away. I refocused my attention outside. ... "You are unsettling." It was Wolfman, speaking to me from the door. "Something is wrong with you... It's in the eyes... something soulless" Since I wasn't wearing my contacts, I'll take the whole soulless zombie thing. I've gotten used to it. But to say that something is wrong with me... are you fucking joking?? I know I can't sleep and all and that I walk around town with no rhyme or reason like some lunatic but I'm certainly not the daffy bastard at the Speedway at 4 am wearing an X-Men get-up and spouting lines from a movie that hasn't been popular since 1941. I must have communicated all of that with my eyes because he spun on his heels and ran out the store.

Given that my nights frequently consist of stupefying boredom punctuated by random moments of terror and amusement, I figured I had enough for the night. Hopefully tomorrow night won't be as traumatic.

Cheers!