The Joy of Insomnia

Saturday morning.

My neighbors, who live about 5 acres away, got a new puppy yesterday. I know you can't measure linear distance with squared units, but if you consider the parcels to be nearly squared-off rectangles, you'll get the idea that they're a comfortable distance away. I'd guess their house is 500 feet from where I lay me down to sleep.

Only I didn't.

My landlady, you see, is a sucker for a sob story, and has accumulated six cast-off dogs of her own, five of which love to bark. The sixth is senile and ready to kick the dog food can, so she's not much of a problem.

The five who bark did so nearly incessantly at the new puppy, which was a huge contributing factor to why I slept only a short while last night. And there's no way I can take a nap now since, well, you know how puppies can be. And barking dogs.

Injecting a little dark humor into my sleepless scenario, I call to your attention David Berkowitz, the legendary Son of Sam murderer of the 1970s. Sometime early this year, I watched a compelling interview with him (actually it was an interview and a documentary rolled up into a nice sixty-minute package). Granted, this man had underlying psychological issues (considering my insomnia, don't I as well?), and his problems may have included schizophrenia (I'll take a rain check on that one). But what I found nearly hilarious about the story was his account in which he explained what had driven him to the brink and made him snap.

His landlord's barking dogs.

*sigh*