My solution has been to scroll through my life, my thoughts, my fantasies, my memories, mis-memories, and the like until I have chanced upon events, people, or narratives that I can employ to divert my mind from the body in which it is encased. These mental exercises have to be interesting enough to hold my attention and see me through an intolerable itch in my inner ear or lower back; but they also have to be boring and predictable enough to serve as a reliable prelude and encouragement to sleep. It took me some time to identify this process as a workable alternative to insomnia and physical discomfort and it is by no means infallible. But I am occasionally astonished, when I reflect upon the matter, at how readily I seem to get through, night after night, week after week, month after month, what was once an almost insufferable nocturnal ordeal. I wake up in exactly the position, frame of mind, and state of suspended despair with which I went to bed—which in the circumstances might be thought a considerable achievement.

Almost anything seems super urgent to deal with at 4am. Then I can't remember it in the morning.

The perimenopause.

Auditions the next day.

I wish I always had the right word in the right moment at the right time and not two hours later in my car going home.

People who punch down.

Oh, I have a long list. You should ask me what I like about myself—that list is much shorter.

Cooking out with my closest friends and laughing until we are crying.

Those who are both loyal and can cook.

That I’ll become a recluse with too many dogs.