Some thoughts in limited omniscient about my nightly routine

He counts in is head, it has been this way for the past few years. He does not sleep, but counts the blinking colon on his alarm clock, trying to match the change in minutes. He counts robotically thinking of other days and other nights, but counting continues in his head fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, one, two, three. Did I lock the door, did I lock my car, did I put my phone on the charger, is my alarm on. He pulls the sheets back and goes to the bathroom. He tries not to wake his sleeping wife and 18 month old son.
In the bathroom he grabs one of his writing magazines and begins to read an article about sestinas and how they are the perfect form of art. He thinks of new ideas for poetry, short stories, and the next great American novel. He then writes them in his blog.