Head of rocks

Wacky sleeping around here these days; no one home but me and the old cat. Wake up in the middle of the night feeling like a landslide has covered my skull, and it's hard to resume slumber. A full moon approaches and the barometric pressure varies wildly. Who knows what screws up what's supposed to knit up raveled sleeves of care?
At least the concert band rehearsal is productive. I am gaining control of the various rhythms, passages and keys, except for "The Sorcerer's Apprentice." It's seven pages and almost fifteen minutes of harrowing activity for me as a rusty clarinetist. I can only hope we are not singled out much in practice...