Word: insomnia
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...three hour French C battle that faced him last Saturday afternoon. He didn't take the no-doz because he had insomnia anyway. He didn't eat, not wanting to draw blood from his brain to his digestive system. But to achieve the Gallic outlook he drank a bottle of Petri Wine...
...Teppe as the prophet of "implacable pessimism." As a child he was constantly ill and morose. He lost the sight of an eye in his 20s in a way no doctor could explain. Since then he has been plagued by rheumatism, sciatica, asthma, stomach ailments, severe headaches, and extreme insomnia. Dressed in pallbearer black, he drags out his days on a birdlike diet of bread crusts and boiled vegetables, in a barren, unheated apartment, aggressively campaigning to stimulate public interest in despondency.* Teppe has even offered a prize for the best Dolorist novel - "a scientific anatomy of pain...
Most nights, Bob Gross is in bed by 10 (even on New Year's Eve he turned in by then), but not to sleep. Tortured by insomnia, he seldom sleeps more than a few hours a night. He used to try to read himself to sleep with mystery stories. But he had to give that up because his eyes have become weak and he is too vain to wear glasses. When the insomnia is particularly bad he gets up, dresses and spends the night walking the streets and up & down the hills of Bel Air mulling over business problems...
...marked the turning point in his life with a carefully written, ambitious, disappointing novel about insanity, Tender Is the Night. By 1935, his body had begun to crack. He drank too much; he was dogged by insomnia; he drugged himself with Napoleonic dreams of military prowess and imaginary victories on the Princeton football field. He was haunted by adolescent disappointments, such as having lost the presidency of a sophomore club and not having gone over seas in the war. He described himself as a man "standing at twilight on a deserted range, with an empty rifle in [his] hands...
...rebel in Victorian England required unusual boldness, and while such doughty fighters as Charles Darwin, Thomas Huxley and Samuel Butler were openly questioning the authority of the Church, the Rev. Mr. Dodgson was doing his utmost to quiet the tormenting questions that filled his brilliant, inquisitive mind. Cursed with insomnia, he would put himself to sleep by endless inventions of games, gadgets, toys, puzzles in mathematics; by day he would take a daily walk of 20 miles at top speed. At best, he would find release from "the sin of thinking for himself about religion" by turning his worries into...