I’ve been watching this show. Yes, another one of these shows that turns me into a junky where I sit up late at night – knowing I’m going to feel like death the next morning – watching episode after episode pining to know what happens to the two of the characters who are falling in love. And of course I can’t help but think – aside from why am I so pathetic? – why do we love a ‘love story,’ so much? You look at some of the greatest movies and television shows over the years and a large majority of them had a love story in there somewhere. Even in ‘real’ life (I sound jaded, but it’s harder to find true love in real life, let’s be honest), you find articles talking about a married couple that has been married sixty years who dies within days of one another because of profound heartbreak, and you find yourself utterly moved by the story.

I suppose it comes down to the fact that we all love the idea of love. Strip it down to its core without any of the complications we humans can bring to it, and love in itself is a pretty powerful force. On the positive side, there are just so many, well, positives about love. It makes you feel good, it makes you feel young, safe, alive...it has no calories. Love is a many splendored thing, as they say, and we all like reveling in it as much as possible.

Added to this, in the fictional world, the love story can become – and retain - all those things we love about love without all the things us humans do to screw it up [Unless of course we’re talking about watching/reading a tragic love story, then hand me the Kleenex and get ready to get your heart ripped out]. You get to see the romance, the quest for the unrequited love, the grand gestures, and of course this is all done to a great soundtrack where everyone has the most poignant eloquent lines (that no one would utter in real life)!

Coupled with this, people are suckers for the love story with the happy ending that we see in most films/shows because let’s be honest, the happy ending makes us feel good and gives us a little hope and happiness when we’ve just burned dinner or changed our hundred thousandth diaper, or just found out our husband is cheating with his secretary (actually, I’m not sure a romantic comedy can fix this, but it’s better than watching something that will send you into a tailspin). There are enough unhappy endings in real life (look up the divorce rate), so it's awful nice to watch the boy get the girl on celluloid.

In short, the fictional love story is like a little happy pill and a bar of chocolate all rolled up in one existing in a vacuum that can’t be touched by the impurities of the outside world. Although I warn you, sometimes watching a ‘love story’ with your partner on television can result in you looking over at them and saying, ‘why the hell don’t you spell my name out in flowers in the middle of the park, huh?! Don’t I deserve that?!’ Well, because in the real world that would cost a fortune, and what man do you know could ever pull off a stunt like that without asking a million questions first ('Um, babe, do you know where I could buy four hundred tulips?')

Plus most love stories in the fictional world don’t focus on all the boring stuff we have to focus on out in the real world whilst maintaining a loving and enduring relationship. We get to see all the best bits and what’s more, we get to see them in a fantastical and pure way. You didn’t see them fighting over who did the dishes last in Dr. Zhivago…or Ralph Fiennes didn’t just tell Kristin Scott Thomas he loved her in the English Patient with a box of chocolates; he downright devoured her with a passion that was hotter than Georgian asphalt. Okay, fine, he then crashed a plane and left her to die in a cave, but you can’t say the man didn’t try.

So now I must happily return to my fictional world where my two young protagonists just had their first kiss…I figure it will take them a few years to start fighting over him leaving his boxers on the floor. Ah, love sweet love.

I have of course tried everything – barring hardcore pills which of course is ironic is they are probably the things that knock you into next week. The plain fact is, I’m not a pill girl and never will be. I’m one of those annoying people that if I take a pill I put all my energy towards fighting the pill’s effect and end up feeling the reverse. Yes, us control freaks have serious issues with surrender. But there’s of course plenty else out there to sucker you in, in hopes of a good night sleep. I used to douse my pillow and bed sheets in so much lavender oil my eyes would water. If you don’t like the smell of lavender it’s a bit of a problem, but it does kind of work - either that or the amount I used was toxic and was actually poisoning me into a coma (I say who cares, a coma is sleep). Then there were the hot baths, hot drinks, yoga moves at 2 a.m., reading, reorganizing my closet, or simply laying there and staring at one spot incessantly until my eyes drooped, telling myself that the state of the world depended on me being utterly still. I have to be honest the state of the world in my hands never fared very well. Now, without heading into the graphic territory, there is one thing that usually does the trick, but it kind of depends on another person to help you out. I think you know where I’m going with this…but sex is a good panacea for this. How do I say this politely, it has to be of course the kind where you complete the mission if you know what I mean. Otherwise you may as well pack up and go home.

The bitch of insomnia is it affects everything you do, obviously. In order to actually get up in the morning and feel like that can do anything, one has had to have gone to sleep in the first place. A no-brainer, right??? And it can’t be very easy on those around you. My partner – a very patient, understanding man – gets that ‘look’ when he knows I’ve had a bout of sleepless nights. It’s that look that says, ‘I love you, but when you’re lacking sleep, I want to run away to some far off place and forget I ever met you.’ I am not a pleasure cruise without sleep, I’m big enough to admit it. In fact, I start to despise those that do sleep – sorry nothing personal - with their rested little effervescent faces bouncing around the planet. The worst is when you are explaining to someone what insomnia is and they just can’t wrap their rested little brains around it. “You mean, you just don’t sleep, nothing, not at all? God that must be the worst. The moment my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.” Gee, thanks, cause that is exactly what I want to hear. Do you tell fat people you just can’t keep weight on? Seriously, not helpful!

I had one boss that used to get heavily involved in my insomnia. As he so politely put it, “you’re a pill Anka, when you don’t sleep I suffer.” So during one of my serious bouts he’d ask me every morning when I came in, if I slept? From the looks of me, it was obvious I didn’t – I’m NOT one of those women who look fine with no sleep. My face looks like something a truck backed over, I get huge bags under my eyes that you could carry your wallet in, and my olive skin turns this attractive shade of green. It’s a good look. Anyway, my boss would put up with me for a few hours as I forgot things, barked at him (we had a funny relationship where oddly he became more scared of me than I of him) get all weepy when the stapler stopped working, until finally he’d throw his pen down and bark, “GO HOME, and don’t come back until you’ve slept.” At least he was understanding.