Insomnia

Ronda would have preferred a Best Western. The noise was not the only thing that kept her awake. A pointed root continually stabbed her back, and even the plush sleeping bag could not cushion her slender body from the agony. To make matters worse, it was unusually warm for a mountain evening, and someone three sites down was having a hell of a little party. She shifted to her right and away from John, who slept like a baby, and propped herself up on one elbow. She bought the two-man dome tent a few years ago, but had never really used it. Now she knew why.

Their neighbors were getting louder by the minute. The orange glow from their campfire lit the inside of Ronda's tent so well that she could have read the newspaper. Unfortunately there was no one on duty to complain to, and she really did not feel like leaving the tent anyway. The best she could do was suck it up and try not to kill someone before morning. The party will break up soon, the optimistic little voice in her head told her. Her cynical side told her that she would be up all night.

Ronda shimmied the sleeping bag away from John and onto what she hoped would be a more comfortable surface. It was, but still sleep refused to come. Finally, she admitted that it was neither the pointed root nor the loud party that had kept her awake. It was the enormity of her situation.