Sleeping Poorly with Larry David

Like Larry David, I often don't sleep well. My nightime soliloquies are slightly different, though.

Sound of subway or unusually loud bus wakes me from a shallow sleep....

I can't believe you forgot to call your mother. She'll forgive me. Sure, but she's hardly the only one you forgot to call. I was busy. Remember when you used to have no problem getting to sleep? I was drunk then. For four years? Never mind. What do I have to do tomorrow? Did I mention that you're older now. No? Allow me. What was that song? Shorter of breath and one day closer to death. Tomorrow: finish new book proposal, respond to right-wing nuts livid because I criticized Jonah Goldberg on my blog, stress out about upcoming family reunion. You used to be able to sleep late, too. So how come you can't sleep past seven any more? I should call my father too. That Parkinson's is getting worse. Shake shake shake.They say it's not genetic, but your grandfather had it too. You know he starved to death, in the end. Tomorrow: pay bills. Mortage. Maintenance. Health insurance. Definitely health insurance. Car insurance. Car payment. Home owner's insurance. I'll bet Larry David doesn't have to worry about that. Plus, his wife is hot. Smart, too. Electric bill. Phone bill. Cable bill. Credit cards. American Express. Visa. Be nice to be able to give more money to charity. Do you really need that HBO? If you keep thinking about this stuff, you're never going to get to sleep. I wonder where my ex-girlfriend is now. With her new husband, of course. I can't believe the Yankees lost again. Maybe you should just turn the light on, read for a while. That's giving up. No. Going to sleep is giving up.