Still No Closer

I need to bug out of the Island tomorrow and get me to the mainland, but still have yet to pack, pay bills, send off letters, etc. This always seems to be the way: whenever I've set out on a trip to the 'Pan, I seem to be pulling an all-nighter just before I take off. One would've hoped that, at 33, I'd be better at the whole process. But, by way of excuse, the past weeks have been filled with foolishness, so I've been doing nothing that I was supposed to be doing. That should absolve me, right?

Hasn't helped that for the past three nights I wake up - ding! - at oh-dark-hundred and spend the subsequent hours before I have to get up for work just tossing and turning (well, maybe just turning), thinking, 'Hm. It would be much better if I were asleep right now...' Inability to successfully reason with oneself must be some sign of mental decline. Also means I'm fair knackered...

'Now o're the one halfe World
Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse
The Curtain'd sleepe:'

MacB, II.1