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I have noticed that suffering occasionally from bouts of insomnia is something akin to a bout of hiccups.

Everyone has a foolproof cure.

“Hold your breath and drink from the other side of the glass,” I’ve been staunchly advised, which not only did nothing for my hiccups but ruined the front of my shirt.

“Hi—YAAA!” yelled another friend from behind, trying to scare hiccups out of me. Not only did that not work, but it also ruined the front of their shirt (although blood will usually rinse out with cold water).

It should be said that I am my own worst enemy and the sole cause of my lack of sleep. I tend to ‘doom scroll: catching up on headlines that are deeply troubling and Ted talks, as well as AI lectures that scare the heck outta me. When I hear that for the past two decades, the ‘tech bros’ (including Uncle Elon) have estimated that robots have a 10-20% chance of killing all of mankind, not only can I not sleep, but I have to change the sheets.

“You should try downloading the app I use,” suggested a well-meaning friend. “Have you ever tried listening to white noise?”

“I already get tinnitus. But thanks, anyway.”

“A big glass of warm milk before bed?” suggested another.

“Too many trips during the night,” I replied.

In the end, I thought I’d recite poetry from memory. I’m lucky that both my parents had a passion for poetry and prose and that I was introduced to Robert Frost in the 5th grade at school, as well as Longfellow:

‘By the shore of Gitche Gumee,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water…’

But the drumbeat rhythm of Hiawatha pounded in my head, and my eyes flew open.

I glanced at the clock. 2:14 am. And so much work ahead of me beginning in three hours!

Trust me: Staying woke ain’t for sissies.