Insomnia is becoming a way of life.

I've been up all night, again. In an hour or so, I'll probably be able to sleep, but sleeping through the day would just reinforce my wacky sleep schedule. I really need to turn the beat around and rejoin the world.

Bidding is open on when I'll say the hell with it and crawl into bed for a nap.

Really, though, if I spend one more day shut in this apartment, I'll start painting bars on the walls. I'm basically over the concussion; all that remains is occasional dizziness, a slight stiffness in my neck, and a nagging sense of embarrassment at what a profoundly stupid thing I did to myself.

Here's what happened. My kickboxing instructor wanted us to kick our legs out behind us, catch ourselves on our hands as we fell forward, do a couple of push-ups, then get back to our feet. He demonstrated the kickout move, caught himself on the way down, knocked off the push-ups, then jumped back up. No problem, I thought. I'm game.

I kicked my legs out behind me, reached for the floor, and slammed right into it. The shock of the impact shot up my spine and gave me an instant headache. Game, clearly, does not equal capable. I don't have the upper body strength I needed to catch my weight. I should have known that. And I should have known better than to try the move on an unpadded wood floor. But I didn't, and I didn't, and we know the rest of that story.

The other bummer result from the Concussion Crash was that I couldn't walk out the soreness from the workout the next day. I was busy lying on my bed and watching the room turn. The stiffness settled in over the weekend. Now I'm walking like an arthritic ninety-year-old. One step forward, two steps back.

But the sun is out, and the forecast is for temperatures in the mid-70s. Perfect. By the time the day gets really beautiful, I'll probably be snoring in my room with the shades down, but I get points for effort, don't I?