I haven’t been able to sleep very well this week.  Since the driving range near my house closes at nine; and HBO is playing the idiotic remake of “House of Wax” on practically a continuous loop (by the way,  they upped the stakes in this one by making the whole house out of wax); and because my wife doesn’t take kindly to me slipping out of the house in the middle of the night to go drinking (now, I know what you’re thinking, Ron aren’t you the master of your house?…what do you care what your wife thinks?…and to you I respond: :point well taken but about a year ago I did this and came home so drunk I mistook our hamper for a toilet and peed in it”…and for those of you who have never done this, believe me,  it takes a while to live this sort of thing down), I had to figure out something else I could do with my time.

And then I had an epiphany.  A useful epiphany.  Which is my favorite kind of epiphany.  Examples of un-useful epiphanies would be as follows: 1) I hate my parents (particularly if one or both are dead);  2) I wish I was nicer to that girl who liked me who ended up practically running a studio and 3) I can’t believe I wasted two hours of my life watching that idiotic remake of “House of Wax” (did I mention that in this one the whole house is made out of wax? although, ironically enough, the actors, who are not made of wax, might as well have been).

Anyway, here’s my useful epiphany: insomnia for a writer, or an aspiring writer, or quite possibly an engineer or even the guy I saw on the Discovery Channel who’s job is to put on a scuba suit, dive into the Mexican sewer and pull animal carcasses out of the pipes, is like a gift from God (to the extent that there is a God and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the guy who makes a living swimming around the sewer in Mexico would dispute it).  You get to lie awake, undisturbed by the rest of the world in a comfortable prone position, maybe even with a comfy pillow and think about whatever you want.  How to fix old scripts, what to write about in your next script, whatever you want.  And without the pressure of a blank computer screen staring you in the face waiting for you to fill it with something great.  Or at least worthwhile.  Or that’s not as stupid as building a whole house out of wax.   So, in summation, insomnia,  not so bad, huh?