Wrapping its greedy tentacles around me like a desperate divorcee at an over-40's disco.
There is nothing on earth worse than not being able to sleep. I lie there, angry and stressed. I toss. I turn. I do some more tossing. I turn once more. Then I throw in another toss for good measure, before giving a little turn and lying on my back, hopeless and cross.
Ninety minutes later, I am still lying there, and I realise that I have exhausted the entertainment possibilities of studying the inside surface of my eyelids. They are featureless and boring.
There is no noise. Two cars have passed in the last hour, and even the local squeaky thing that lives outside the window seems to have tucked in early with a hot drink.
The LTLP is away for the night. Perhaps that is the problem. I am all alone except for Honey Bear and Peter the Hanging Monkey.
My bed is slightly larger than king sized, which is great as you can share it and have the warm sensation of being with somebody overnight without any of that physical contact stuff that girls like. Honestly, it's really really big - it would comfortably fit me and the LTLP, plus, Kirstie Allsopp, Alison Goldfrapp and at a pinch, Daisy Sampson and Laura Kuenssberg from The Daily Politics to pick some people at random. (Although if they were all there, I would have to back down and have physical contact - it's not that big.)
That thought exaggerates the emptiness more.
We lie there - me, Honey Bear and Peter the Hanging Monkey.
I start thinking about things. This is always a mistake, thinking about things. It further activates my racing brain. Am I hungry? Not sure. Do I want to go for a wee wee? I didn't, but now I can't tell. Are there aliens elsewhere in the universe? It would be interesting if there were.
A crumb of comfort - at least it gives me something to write about. I think of a very funny 'Insomnia! Insomnia! They've all got it in-somnia!' joke, and wonder how I can work it in to a post without appearing contrived.
Then I must have gone to sleep.