Every time he lay down in bed, his mind "would be whirling faster than the fan, wondering about our cargo, job interviews, the bills". He would put on the AC, "hoping its white noise would help me get some sleep". No luck. "I’d just toss and turn till Nina would shout at me to stop bumping around in bed." Not even after he landed a cushy job last November did things get better. His was a case of chronic insomnia, which made him a kvetchy employer, snappy spouse and a party pooper.