Insomniac awaits tomatoes

At 6:26 in the morning I await the arrival of my father. He is on his way to Canada, driving there by himself to work on the small plot of land he and my mom bought, and he has insisted on stopping by and bringing me tomatoes at 9 am.
This is the first day that I've had to sleep in since before I moved on Wednesday, and I had decided earler (when I went to bed around 1:00 am) that I would get up with some blankets and a pillow and and go sleep in front of the front door, so I could wake up, hug my father, get the aforementioned tomatoes and go straight back to sleep. As you know, when sleep is interrupted for any great legnth of time it becomes harder and harder to fall back into it. This plan (I thought) was foolproof, but here I have been, for 5 straight hours, tossing and turning and feeling horrible and stressing and writhing....having fallen prey to the great beast insomnia.
I don't get insomnia. I don't think I was a likely canidate either; I worked an 8 hour day, matched a movie, drank a beer and 3 glasses of wine, made a conscious decision not to read any more in my book when I went to bed in preparation for some solid rest. But here I am hours later, having formed the pillows into a vague human lump form which is covered by the comforter (it is hot and stuffy in this borrowed room, and the fan makes little whispers of movement on your skin) and which I can hug. How pitiful, really. Compared to the room I've been sleeping in for the past 2 years this place is a silent tomb. Sometimes I hear a train whistle. Sometimes all I hear is the tick of the fan and the scratch of my eyelashes on the pillow as I struggle to keep my eyes closed.
I want a sick day.
I want my own bed.
I want Mykle back so that I can sleep next to him (his blog informs me that that will be in about 23 weeks). I want a place to call home in this white suburban ag-town, if nothing else. Talking to the natives is disheartening. I had one 15 year resident tell me that he is always depressed when he comes back to Davis from travel, so he never goes anywhere, I guess to avoid said depression.
So I wait for the tomatoes, feeling sorry for myself in my clammy bed. Well, technically not MY clammy bed. I wait and the sky is light now and the shade does nothing to keep the daylight out, of course it doesn't because there are no insomniacs here, no taxis, no after-hours clubs, no singing post-bar revelers, no car alarms, no sirens always wailing in the night, no street noise at all to keep you awake.
I just want to sleep and wake up naturally, to no alarm, and I thought I would tell all of you all about it. Aren't you lucky. I would tell you how the tomatoes are too, but that will have to wait until another time. Hopefully one in which I am more rested and less filled with sorrowful foreboding. We'll just have to see, won't we.......