Goodbye Paranoia, hello Insomnia

For over three years this blog was Paranoia Strikes Deep. When I started it I had a lot of paranoia in my life: I had it from my job--and my paranoid boss--I had the memories of my mother, who raised me in a cloud of paranoia, and I even had my own suspicions about society in general and how it operated, not always in the interest of citizens. My earliest blog entries from 2006 are full of that sort of talk, and I brought it up occasionally after that just to remind myself why I named my blog what I had.

But since I retired I've noticed something. I'm more relaxed, not so paranoid. My mother died last year and with her death came the end to my mixed feelings about her and growing up within her aura of mental illness. I retired on January 1 of this year and gradually have come to forget old what's-his-name, my boss (I remember his name but don't want to have to write it) and the effect that his over-the-top paranoia had on me (it's catching, you know).

Last Thursday morning, about 2:00 a.m., I did what I've done so many times: I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Insomnia has been a constant, if unwelcome, guest in my home all my life. I admit that my attacks of insomnia aren't as great now that anxiety has lessened its hold on me, but it still drops in now and again, just to let me know it's still there.

With the insomnia come racing thoughts, and often they are thoughts on what I'd like to write. I have little scraps of paper, and every once in a while I jot things down so I'll remember them.

Here are some notes for some fiction ideas. An idea for some sexy stuff.

Title: Hot Six

Two couples/swingers invite third couple who cause major complications.

or, how about this H.P. Lovecraft idea:

Man finds his father's old case w/typewriter in a thrift store. Partial story about elder gods. Father has been taken by gods 40 years earlier and writes to son through typewriter, inviting himself and elder gods back to earth.

I wrote down a dream:

I'm walking around a neighborhood looking for an address. I ask a man where it is, and he tells me, but warns me to watch out for a large, dangerous mentally ill man named Cadamus, who will kill me. The man tells me you'll know who he is because when he sees you he will ask, "Do you know the way to Leechtea Street?" I am worried but continue to look for the address. Suddenly a very large, bearded man, who looks just like the Robbie Coltrane character in Harry Potter, yells in a fake Russian accent, "DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO LEECHTEA STREET?" I force myself to wake up.

See what I mean? Those are written in my insomnia notebook, so I have re-christened my blog. You'll still access it through the same URL, but the new name will allow me to do all of the things I usually do, which is chew your ears off with my incessant chatter, but at least I won't be feeling guilty for not finding a paranoia angle.