Last week, in the midst of trying to fall asleep, I was hired for a VERY weird photo shoot—some guy wanted me to wear a Hillary Clinton mask, and a bunch of hats, over at Sunset Park.

I met him at the park and we sat in the picnic area amidst families and birthday parties while he shot close-ups of my face in various hats and the mask, all of which he had me pull halfway down my face so that only my mouth was showing. Then he had me make two expressions: a big, manic smile…and then a gaping-mouthed expression of shock. Over and over, these two expressions, in a succession of different hats. I don’t know if it was some kinda fetish or what—he wasn’t even using a real SLR camera, just a little point-and-shoot!

This went on for an hour, and finally one of the other people picnicking nearby bemusedly inquired if we minded him asking what we were doing. “I have NO IDEA,” I stated flatly (my fatigue made me less polite than I normally am), and the photographer muttered something about “for my portfolio.” Whatever!!! All I know is, I was panting into a sweaty Hillary Clinton mask on a park bench, trying not to fall asleep at 3:00 in the afternoon. SAD!

For the final shot, the photographer had me put on a knit burglar cap and pull it down over my entire face, but pulled taut in the back so that you could see the outline of my lips and nose…then he gave me $50 and sent me on my way.

But the insomnia continues. The worst was Monday night. I started getting really sleepy around 10:30pm—so sleepy I started nodding off at my laptop. So I saddled up to take a loooooong, 2-3 hour walk around downtown Vegas. I figured to walk down to Fremont Street, which is always full of weirdos who might be able to distract me from my sleepy misery. I figured to stop at the Circle K on the way and get some ice cream, in the hopes that the sugar would pep me up—after all, I needed to stay awake another 4.5 hours!

I remember standing in line at the Circle K, and everything was just swimming. My vision was getting kinda blurry from the exhaustion, and all the colors and stuff under the fluorescent lights were sort of fuzzy and warped. It was freaky! I got my ice cream and shuffled off into the night, but it was like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run away from something, but it’s like you’re stuck in quicksand—my legs were heavy and sluggish, and it was a windy night to boot, so the wind was conspiring against me to blow me back with every belabored step.

I somehow managed to slog along Las Vegas Blvd. toward Fremont Street, SO FUCKING TIRED that I swear I could have laid down right there on the sidewalk and passed out, roaches or no. I was THAT TIRED. At one point I stopped to lean on a parking meter and sob disconsolately…but I felt myself starting to nod off AGAIN, so I shoved off and soldiered on, determined to make it til 3am. By now it was 11:30—3.5 hours to go. GAH!!!

I shuffled resolutely on, but I’m here to yell you: I FELL ASLEEP WHILE I WAS WALKING. I didn’t think it could be done, but I actually nodded off while in motion. Scary! I was afraid I’d fall down and hit my head on the concrete or something, so I held my eyelids open like in A Clockwork Orange as I slogged on. I must have looked like a real fuckin’ freak!!!!!

Thankfully, once I got down to Fremont, I was looking at a half-demolished apartment building and some random guy came along and started chatting me up. I knew he was aiming to hit on me, but I was SO TIRED that I welcomed any diversion, and ended up walking along with him for about 30 min, talking about anything and everything under the sun, just to stay awake. (Talking to other people was pretty effective…I considered making a sign reading “PLEASE TALK TO ME” and then just standing around Fremont Street all night, chatting with drunk tourists to stay awake.)

Anyhoo, of course this guy wanted to know why I was walking around alone at night, so I finally told him the story before bidding him adieu and heading home. All in all it killed 30 more minutes, so now I only had to stay awake another 3 hours. Shuffle home as slowly as possible—kill another 20 minutes. Wash hair—20 minutes. Apply a gallon of anti-acne cream in desperate attempt to repair ravaged face—15 minutes. I swear, I was doing ANYTHING to stay awake. Torture!!!

SOMEHOW, I made it to 3am, and passed out in bed for a grand and glorious total of 3 hours. WTF! How could I be THAT tired, and still not sleep the full amount of allotted time?!?!?! I was starting to despair that this fucking treatment would never work—here it was Day FIVE, and I still wasn’t sleeping the full 4 hours. And I had to sleep the full 4 hours FOUR DAYS IN A ROW before even allowing myself to add an extra FIFTEEN MINUTES! At this rate, I wouldn’t be up to 6 hours for MONTHS—and I’d be insane by then!!!!

The next evening to I took a bath, and broke down sobbing and screaming on the phone to my mom. I was desperately tired, but felt like this was my ONLY HOPE for curing this fucking insomnia—nothing else has worked, and I was loath to puss out and give up. But I really felt like it was killing me! My mom of course freaked out and told me to quit the stupid sleep restriction—“It’s not worth it!” and I screamed at her like an insane banshee about how I HAD to do it, it was my only hope, etc. Sorry, Mom!!

Two days later I went to a naked yoga class.

The class was held at the Erotic Heritage Museum—one of the COOLEST museums I’ve ever been to, and it’s right here in Vegas! Two stories of really well done exhibits and displays relating to the history of sex and pornography—fabulous! I’ve long been a fan of that museum and of all the cool-ass people who work there, and it was really great to be able to strip naked and do yoga with a bunch of other like-minded weirdos there. We all rolled out our yoga mats and went to town under the aegis of this beautiful blonde yoga goddess, who was also naked, but in a very progressive, matter-of-fact way. It was GREAT!!! No one was perving on anyone, we were all just focusing on our postures and what not. There were probably 15 people in the class—fat, skinny, toned, flabby, pierced and dreadlocked and bald and boring. The guy in front of me had a Prince Albert piercing, but I honestly only noticed it once, because I was so focused on my yoga moves! Seriously!!! It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of cool things!

Now speaking of yoga, on a final note, I read online about this certain discipline of yoga called Yoga Nidra, which means something like Corpse Yoga and is used to treat soldiers with PTSD…and insomniacs! Apparently, it uses breathing techniques to put you into delta-wave sleep while meditating or something like that…and is supposedly VERY BENEFICIAL for high-strung types like me. I looked online to see about taking a class here in Vegas…but alas, I couldn’t find anywhere that offers it—D’OH!!! If you know of one, please let me know…I need help!!!

—WONDERHUSSY

Related posts:

1. FEMALE FORCE: HILLARY CLINTON
2. FOUND: QUITTING YOGA AND YOU
3. OPEN MIC: YOGA FARTS
4. LIKE YOGA BUT NO MOVING
5. BILL CLINTON IS A HERO