Shortly after one o’clock this morning I accepted that I could no longer sleep. I was never one for a deep or long slumber. What I recall more precisely is going to bed late and getting up early. The routine was normally bedtime after 1:00 am then arising sharply at 7:00 am, at least that was when the clock radio alarm went off and I conditioned myself to haul myself out of the sack onto the floor. In the days when I had my little French bulldog Monroe we would lie on the floor in the television room, my head on a pillow, Monroe cuddled in my arm, as I flipped channels. When at last it came time to go to bed I’d let Monroe out the front door to void his bladder, then we’d go back upstairs, each to his own bed. In the morning the same ceremony was repeated and the day began.