[Inigo Montoya] "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya, prepare to die!" or
[Vizzini] "HE DIDN'T FALL [asleep]? INCONCEIVABLE."
[Inigo Montoya] "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." [I agree!]
Picture yourself in my shoes (or slippers as the case may be), suffering from insomnia and a migraine headache that feels like the pressure and pain of being at the very bottom of the abysmal depths of the Mariana's Trench... Go.on.picture.it! (No, no, no. No need to worry... why, I have never lost my zen...unless provoked, so all's good. Right?)
Insomnia, you suck. Right now I feel 'mostly dead'... I guess I could go watch The Princess Bride again. It's either that, or I may not have any patience left (much less zen) when I have to get up and actually try to interact with humanity on the morrow. I must be able to control myself because I know that it's not polite nor politically correct to give anyone a complete verbal mental picture of how they should stuff their head somewhere that has been declared by the medical community as being anatomically, not in any way, possible and then informing the recipient that their new method of communication will have to be via their small (or would that be large?) intestines.
It stands to reason that to insure the recipient of my wisdom would never forget the lesson of ticking off my less than benevolent self. (only caused by sleep deprivation, you understand... or more likely, since this really doesn't seem to make me sound like a very likable human being... I have finally fallen asleep and this is only a dream... no? OK, then. I guess I'm just a very unlikable person... at least without a benchmark minimum of at least a solid 6 hours of sleep) The lesson would probably be along the line of having the privilege (and joy) of tossing said individual into the basement (without turning on the light to gently guide their trip down the steep stairs), locking the door and then go to find a very large slice of pumpkin cheesecake and a mellow glass of wine. The basement dweller(s) would then either find the bulkhead door in the dark... or someday I could have them declared to be lost. Now THAT right there would be the perfect 'Room of Requirement' a la Harry Potter!
QOTD: I also wish insomnia could be cured with a simple Harry Potter wizard's curse of "Stupify" which supposedly puts the object of the curse, immediately to sleep. Under the current conditions... I also wonder why it would be considered a 'curse'?