Sleep Problems

I've always had a hard time falling asleep.
As a child with a bedtime, I think it's safe to say I spent an hour of every day of my life lying awake in bed, daydreaming in the dark, talking to myself and just generally not falling asleep. As a teenager I stopped trying all together, and stayed up reading or on the computer long after it was sensible for my 6 o'clock high school wake-up schedule. I just don't like to lie awake in bed. It's boring and it's tedious, and my brain is an alright guy but he's really chatty and can be really negative. So unless I'm using him to complete a specific task or think about things that matter to me, I'd rather not be alone with him.

Through college and into my early adulthood I've continued to stay up late and avoid the dark isolation of trying to fall asleep, but recently things have changed. It used to be that I could stay up until 4 in the morning and wake up at 10 a.m. and feel fine, but now, maybe because I'm getting older, the trick has been working less and less. If I stay up until 4 a.m. I sleep until 2 in the afternoon, and that gets old after a few weeks of seeing the sun set only a few hours after you wake up. So, against my better judgment and years of experience, I've been trying to fall asleep at a somewhat decent time these past few nights. And the shit is starting up again.
The other night, Lindsay and I went to bed at about quarter after 1 in the morning, planning to fall asleep to Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.

Hell yes.

Anyways, as the credits rolled two hours later and I found myself wide awake, I had two choices. I could get up, get on my computer and Stumble until my eyes burned enough that I genuinely wanted to close them, or I could lay in the darkness and hope that, just maybe, my brain would be merciful enough to leave me alone.

The thing about lying awake at night is that your brain latches on to one particular thought and won't shut up about it. "Let's think about this thing until you go CRAZY," is what your brain says. On this particular night, I found myself thinking, of all things, about a wooden box I built in high school and is currently holding all of the Animorphs books I own at my parents' house. It was for a Pandora's Box project for my mythology class, and it looks like this:

So anyways, I was thinking about this box, and about how it was one of the few substantial things I've ever made from scratch, and about how easy it was and how I could do it again if I ever needed a box for anything.

But then I was like... wait, how did I make that box again?
And my brain was like LET'S FIGURE IT OUT!

Because here's the problem: I remembered distinctly that I walked straight into the store, bought the wood, came home, and nailed that damn box together. It was just that simple. I didn't measure, and I didn't remember cutting anything. What I did remember was buying wood that looked like this:

But wait, if that was what I bought, how could I have possibly made the box? Because by nailing these parts together there would always be the same basic flaw in design. There are variations of this flaw, but really you can only have two basic outcomes with these materials.

And my brain went over these two options over and over and OVER again, even though I was like: "Please stop. This is stupid. Let's think about something else."
My brain was like NO SLEEP FOR YOU UNTIL WE FIGURE THIS OUT.
And I was like, "Next time I'm home I will look at the box and everything will make sense again, I promise."
And my brain was like HAHAHA NOPE! NOT SOON ENOUGH! WE NEED TO KNOW NOW! MAYBE MOM CAN TAKE PICTURES OF THE BOX AND E-MAIL THEM TO US, AND THEN WE CAN DERIVE HOW THE BOX WAS BUILT. YOU SHOULD CALL HER TOMORROW.
And I was like "That is ridiculous. We will not be doing that."
So my brain was like YOU BETTER GET TO WORK THEN. THINK ABOUT THE BOX. THE BOX. THE BOX. BOX BOX BOX BOX.

To appease my brain I attempted to reach a compromise. An answer that, while not technically correct, could at least logically explain how a box could conceivably be constructed from these materials. It would be something like this:

And my brain was like LOL NOPE. THAT WASN'T IT. KEEP TRYING.

So I laid there, alternating between the only two possible outcomes from my PROBLEMS pictures above, for a good solid half an hour. It was awful and frustrating and full of irrational thoughts like "What if I need a box? I'll never be able to build a box again! I've forgotten how!" Again I tried to trick my brain, arguing that perhaps I had forgotten steps in the process of making the box. Maybe the box did, in fact, jut out unevenly like in the first example. Maybe I had made measurements to account for the extra inch hanging over the top like in the second example.

And then it hit me.
I HAD cut the wood.

I hadn't bought four long pieces and two square end pieces. I bought six long pieces and did this:

And so the mystery was solved! There was much rejoicing.

Then my brain was like, "Wow, you were right. That was a stupid thing to spend so much time on. You should write a blog entry about this because it was so silly."
And I was like, "Yeah, maybe."
And my brain was like, "But how would you explain it? You would have to draw a lot of pictures. I wonder what they would look like..."

I didn't fall asleep until 5 a.m.